Reichenbach Falls
by AllesandraQuartermaine
Summary: Part 3 of A Different Take Series. COMPLETE It's February. Moriarty is making good on his threat. Anyone who has helped John and Sherlock, or are connected to them are in danger. People are dying, and no one knows who may be next.
1. Prologue: So It Begins

**Title: Reichenbach Falls- A Different Take (Part 3 Of A Different Take Series/Universe)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Moriarty, Moran, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson with Mycroft Holmes appearance a couple times.**

**Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor (as much one can be with this story), Hurt/Comfort**

**Warnings: Death, Murder, Violence, Language,**

**Spoilers: Reichenbach Falls is the title of the third episode/season finale (or episode 6) of Season 2.**

**Summary: It's February. John and Sherlock have known each other for a year now, their friendship strong, the bond that is between them is understood by them, but not by everyone else. Moriarty's plans for the two of them have been coming to fruition since January. Everyone they know, have helped and are close to them (as close one can get to Sherlock that is) are in danger.**

**Author's Notes: All righty then, here we go. I had do some research once more of course. I had to read up some on Reichenbach Falls first to get a good idea of what it was about, and to help put together a tale. We all know of course that as per the course, that Moffatt and Gatiss will have their twist and spin on it. Below once more, is my own twist/take on it.**

**Enjoy.**

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

**So It Begins**

* * *

><p><strong>Date: Februrary 10th,2011<strong>

**_Time: 2 pm_**

**_Location: Aeroplane_**

_**Sherlock looks out the window, watching as the clouds go by.**_

_**The noise in the aeroplane was at a low hum, thanks to the earplugs he had purchased earlier.**_

_**It enabled him to think clearly, to focus on the task at hand.**_

_**To go over the plan.**_

_**Everything was set into place.**_

_**It was concluded, after much thinking, debating and planning, that this was the only way.**_

_**It certainly was not an option he liked very much. There was nothing about this he liked.**_

_**He feels a tap on his wrist, and he glances over at John who gestures to the flight attendant with the drink cart.**_

_**Sherlock shakes his head and goes back to staring out the window.**_

_**The time for thinking about this was over.**_

_**It was the only way.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Undisclosed<strong>

**Time: Unknown, But Evening**

**Date: January 1st, 2011**

* * *

><p>Moriarty stares at the scene playing out before him on the telly, a rage slowly building.<p>

It took five months to set up that heist. Five long months. It took that long to acquire the right people, to get the right equipment. He put a lot of money to help those... those... incompetent fools pull of their heist and get away with it.

And this is what happens?

Arrested hours before the heist was to begin. Arrested because somehow Interpol got a tip. A bloody tip of all things!

How? How was it possible? There was nothing to trace, nothing to go on, he made sure of that! But here it is, in all of it's splendid glory on the telly. All of them arrested.

Moriarty exhales attempting to bring calm in his mind.

It was just so.. so...

"Infuriating!" He snarls, hurling the remote at the television. Not doing anything remotely satisfying he picks up the lamp next to him and hurls it at the telly, anything to make that reporter shut the hell up.

He doesn't pay attention to the three people in the room with him suddenly bolt of the room.

He heard the whispers of the others.

iBoss in a bad mood.

Stay away. /i

Oh bloody hell yes, he was in a bad mood!

This was the third sting to his organization in as many weeks!

Not only was it humiliating, it was aggravating, it was infuriating, it was maddening!

He had been in control of a massive crime ring, one that was spread out through most of Europe and a small branch of it in the States, for years now. An organization that had not even been known, or on anyone else's radar for that matter, for years. Nearly ten years of being able to plot, plan, set up, put everything into place to execute the crimes, and he was able to get it done without anyone knowing a bloody damn thing!

Now.. now, three have all gone to bust. Three crimes that each took a lot of time to plan and to execute.

It was enough to drive him beyond mad...if he wasn't already there at times.

It didn't seem to matter that he sent his best to clean up, to take out the idiots that are arrested before they reveal anything incriminating that could lead the authorities to him. Somehow, one way or another, connections were being made, smaller rings being flushed out, traps being set and sprung.

The only thing that had not happened was his face being plastered all over the news.

He gets up from the sofa, and starts pacing the room, running his hands through his cropped short hair. He needs to think. How is this happening?

He catches a glimpse of another entering the room.

"The Hungarians have been caught?"

Moriarty growls at his pet's comment. He picks up a vase as he passes the stand, getting ready to throw it when his assassin plucks it out of his hands, then puts it back on the stand. He's almost amused at her quick reflexes.

"Sherlock behind it?"

His near amusement is now gone.

Moriarty's jaw clenches at the name. Sherlock Holmes. It had to be him! It was the only solution to this madness!

"I can't prove it," Moriarty says between clenched teeth. "He must have gotten sneakier in his ways. I haven't caught a scent of his sniffers looking for me. They've all gotten better. He must have deeper resources than I thought..."

Once again the anger in him strengthens. Holmes was supposed to back off. The fool was told what would happen if he didn't!

The cleverness and resourcefulness of Sherlock Holmes was getting to be quite annoying. He had his fun with him, he was given a friendly warning at the pool, and a final warning in November.

Enough is enough.

The fun is over now.

"I take I'm going to Hungary to take care of the fools?"

"No," he says shortly. "No, I'll send someone else. You, I need for an entirely different matter."

"That would be what, boss?"

"The file on my desk," Moriarty waves his hand behind him.

The only sounds he hears are footsteps walking across the floorboards over to his desk. Moriarty decides a bit of fresh air would be beneficial. He walks over to a pair of glass doors, sliding one open and stepping outside onto the balcony.

The view of the city, a city that yesterday he helped a gentleman steal eight million euros from, (At least one crime went according to plan) the darkness of this night, the chilly wind that greeted him, fell over him. A calm was now approaching.

This was needed.

He never did well when he was angry. He ended up getting a bit.. well rash when he was angry. He thought better when he was calm. When he was in control.

It does not take long for all the troubles to recede, to fall away. For his mind to be rational, focused and driven once more.

"I got you this list in December," Moran's voice calls out. Moments later, his favorite pet steps out and joins him on the balcony. . "There are a few more names and addresses on it though."

"Just the ones I found through my own research recently."

"Where do you want me to start?"

"The States," Moriarty orders. He knew this was the right course of action. Sherlock had been warned. Twice. He should have been grateful, he doesn't give two warnings, hell he normally didn't even give one warning.

"There are four there. Take care of two. Then come back here. There are nine in all in the Mainland. Take out five. Then we shall begin in London."

He watches with satisfaction as his sniper, his favorite pet, oh so loyal, smirks.

"Can't hardly wait," she says.

Moriarty chuckles at her eagerness. "Always so willing, my dear."

"I need a little fun."

"Then fun you shall have." He nods. "Go."

She turns and heads back inside the suite, and Moriarty faces the city once more.

"It's time for you to see that your actions do indeed have consequences," Moriarty says softly into the night.

"Time to pay the price."

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Boston, Massachusetts<strong>

**Time: Afternoon**

**Date: January 4th**

* * *

><p>"Come on, answer your damn phone," Moran hears the woman mutter in her ear. She can see her pacing in her living room.<p>

Moran watches as the private investigator tries to get a hold of Sherlock Holmes, unaware of the bugs in her home, nor that she was being sighted through a scope attached to a sniper rifle from a few buildings away.

"Sherlock! Damn it, man! Answer your phone for once! I can't text you about this. Listen, call me back as soon as you can. I have some information for you."

The private investigator ends the call and Moran watches as she sets the mobile on the counter, staring at her laptop.

With a smirk, she picks up her own and dials the number to the investigator. It rings twice, then the other woman answers.

"Sherlock?"

"No," Moran answers, her mobile on speaker, satisfied with having a clear aim now. "But you can certainly blame Sherlock for what is about to happen for you.. for the next few seconds."

"What?"

Moran pulls the trigger twice in quick succession, and seconds later she grins as the investigator falls down, dead. Hard to survive with a bullet in the heart and in between the eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Los Angeles, California<strong>

**Time: 5 pm**

**Date: January 7th, 2011**

* * *

><p>Moran pulls back her rifle, once the second shot hits the FBI agent between the eyes. She hears shouts from the distance she is at, and lays flat on the roof while she pulls apart her rifle and puts it back in the case.<p>

She then crawls to the door just twenty feet away. Once it's opened, she stands, picking up the rifle case and then walks down the stairwell.

It takes only five minutes for her to get to the main level of the garage and to the rental car.

It's only a few more minutes later, when driving, she picks up her mobile and presses a button.

It rings twice.

"Agent Baynes?" She hears once the boss answers.

"Taken care of."

"Who are you going to next?"

"I'm thinking the hacker in Houston."

She hears Moriarty laugh, and she smirks as the call ends.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: Houston, Texas<strong>

**Time: 4 pm**

**Date: January 11th, 2011**

* * *

><p>Moran scowls at the mess laying about in front of her.<p>

She despises not keeping a clean home. Or a flat.

The several computers in the other room hum as she waits on the sofa for Billy Bradstreet, apparent hacker extraordinaire at the age of nineteen, to come home.

No buildings across the street gave her a decent vantage point to target Billy Bradstreet.

So she has to do it up close.

Not that she cares. Either way is suitable.

Faint sounds of footsteps echo in the hall, and she hears the boy's voice. No one else is responding, so clearly on a mobile then.

She points her pistol at the front door, silencer on it of course, and waits.

Moran doesn't have to wait long as the door opens, and she aims it at the boy, as he says something into the mobile and then slips into his coat. He shuts the door and then takes a few feet into the room, stopping still as he sees her, then sees the gun.

"Hello Billy," she says softly.

He stares at her.

"Was that Sherlock Holmes you were speaking to just now?"

His eyes widen.

"You can blame him for this," she says with a smile.

Then shoots.

She watches dispassionately as the nineteen year old drops down on the ground. She removes the silencer, puts the pistol and silencer back in the case. Then stands and walks forward, stepping over the body of Bradstreet and leaves the pitifully small flat.

Once more she takes out her mobile and presses a button.

"There will be a jet waiting for you at the location I will send to you," boss says the second he answers. "Everything went well?"

"Splendidly."

"He'll be getting word soon of the first death."

"Oh, poor man."

"Best get to the Mainland fast. You have a strict timeline for the targets there before I need you in London."

"Yes, boss."

"Good work, my dear."

She smiles as she leaves the building, and the call ends. Moran wonders if Sherlock will care when hears of the deaths.

Boss thinks so.

He was quite pleased when she told him her findings regarding how Holmes obviously felt about John Watson.

When she turned the gun on John, she saw a fire in his eyes.

iHow sweet it will be... to pull the trigger on John Watson. Will the fire still rage? Or will it die like Boss hopes it will?/i

If it does, then Boss's vengeance will be achieved.


	2. A Cold Case Solved

**Title: Reichenbach Falls- A Different Take (Part 3 Of A Different Take Series/Universe)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Moriarty, Moran, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson with Mycroft Holmes appearance a couple times.**

**Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor (as much one can be with this story), Hurt/Comfort**

**Warnings: Death, Murder, Violence, Language,**

**Spoilers: Reichenbach Falls is the title of the third episode/season finale (or episode 6) of Season 2.**

**Summary: It's February. John and Sherlock have known each other for a year now, their friendship strong, the bond that is between them is understood by them, but not by everyone else. Moriarty's plans for the two of them have been coming to fruition since January. Everyone they know, have helped and are close to them (as close one can get to Sherlock that is) are in danger.**

**Author's Notes: See prior notes in prologue. Also to those who are new and just started reading this story, this is the latest installment to my A Different Take series. If you want to read everything in it's proper order, start with the prequel A Study of Living With Sherlock Holmes, then A Scandal In Belgravia and The Hounds of Baskerville. **

**To Lola: That mistake you mentioned was my fault actually. Moran didn't go above and beyond, even though she would. But that little oops was on me.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1- A Cold Case Solved<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Date: February 10th,2011<strong>_

_**Time: 2:20 pm**_

_**Location: Aeroplane**_

_**Sherlock feels John tap his wrist again. He does not respond.**_

_**Next thing he knows he can hear all sorts of distracting sounds as John has taken out one of his earplugs.**_

_**"John."**_

_**"Sherlock."**_

_**He sighs. "What is it?"**_

_**"Stop."**_

_**"I thought I was the one that usually said that to you."**_

_**He hears John chuckle. Despite himself, he smiles.**_

_**"Shouldn't be long now," John comments.**_

_**"Another thirty minutes."**_

_**"Right."**_

_**"John?"**_

_**"What?"**_

_**Sherlock pauses then decides not to ask the question. There is no need. The answer is already known.**_

_**"Never mind."**_

* * *

><p><strong>Location: 221B Baker Street<strong>

**Time: 7 pm**

**Date: January 13th, 2011**

* * *

><p>Sherlock stares at the email he just received.<p>

Callie Winters is dead.

He heard her frantic message on his voice mail a couple of days ago. But since he never got another call from her after that, he figured whatever it was she had apparently could wait.

He did call back twice.

There was no answer either time.

So he decided to wait for her to call instead.

Now he knows she is not going to.

The private investigator that he met in 2008 while she was here in London on holiday was dead.

"Sherlock? What's wrong?"

"Hmm?"

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock realizes then John is calling to him. He straightens and turns around to face his flat-mate. Then he looks at the time.

"Long day at surgery? You're two hours later than normal."

"They were backed up today. Main reason why I was called in. Anything to eat? I'm starving."

"There's some delivery from the Chinese place in the fridge."

John sighs and heads into the kitchen. "It'll have to do I suppose. Tomorrow night I'm cooking risotto. We could both do with something home cooked instead of take out."

Sherlock listens as John putters around in the kitchen, his mind still wandering back to the news of Winters death. Perhaps he should contact the family, offer his help. Winters was a decent sort.. she had intelligence, but she didn't show it all the time. It helped with her job if she pretended to be dumb. It took Sherlock three minutes more than most to deduce most of what he knew about her.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"You got that look on your face," John says as he comes into the main room.

"What look on my face?"

"The I-recieved-troubling-news look."

"I have."

"Oh?"

Sherlock nods. "A contact of mine, from the States. She's dead. Murdered. Her mother just emailed me."

John winces. "Shame."

"She was a private investigator. Decent sort, even for an American."

"That says a lot coming from you," John says as he heads back into the kitchen.

Sherlock turns his attention back to the email. He wonders how the parents knew to email him. Perhaps they had gone through her information and noticed who she kept in contact with.

Sherlock grabs his mobile, and opens his list of contacts in the States. He doesn't have as many in the States as he does here, but he has enough in his mind. A few can be a little difficult to track down at times due to the nature of their professions. Sherlock had a tendency to meet most of his sources through work, as it were. He did develop a few others during his travels after he finished schooling, before he finally went to Uni.

He moves through his contacts list until he finds the B section.

Agent Baynes. Billy Bradstreet.

FBI. Hacker. He met Billy when the teenager lived in London for just a few months... the hacker decided to go back home about a month before he met John. The FBI agent he had met when he was ensuring the execution of Mrs Hudson's husband.

Last time he spoke to the man he had been reassigned to California. That was two months ago.

He spoke to Billy just two days ago. He had called Billy to ask about tracing a hacking attempt that had been performed on the highly sensitive files of the MI-6.

A pinging sound on his laptop moved Sherlock's attention from his phone to what just appeared in front of him. It usually meant a recent article had been written, one that would possibly attract his attention. Thanks to an ingenious website Sherlock came across, where all he had to do was enter in what type articles he wanted to read, and news articles about his interests would be sent his way.

Sometimes, the internet could be quite remarkable.

Just like London's murder map.

_**FBI Agent Killed In Shooting.**_

Sherlock blinks at the title of the article. Curiosity drives him to read further, and he halts in the middle of reading it, a bold line catching his attention.

_**During the shoot out with suspected domestic terrorists a few days ago, three FBI agents were wounded, and one was killed. The one killed has been identified as Agent Harrison Baynes.**_

Well... looks like his contact of the FBI Division in Los Angeles, California is dead.

_Annoying. Now I'll have to find a way to develop another contact._

He can practically hear John reprimanding him for that.

Sherlock sighs, then hears his mobile ring.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Holmes," the voice of Agent Rodriguez drawls from the other line.

"Agent Rodriguez," Sherlock greets the Interpol agent.

"Sorry I did not get in touch with you earlier. Have you been watching the news?"

"Not for over two weeks now. Telly's a bit on the fritz. Working it out." No need to say why it's on the fritz. John's just stopped being irritated with him on that.

At least he didn't have to replace the telly like he had to with the table the last time an experiment didn't go the way he expected.

Plus apparently it wasn't going to get fixed until Sherlock took full blame for it. '

It was not his fault. If Mrs Hudson hadn't distracted him, then John would be able to watch his shows without a partially black screen.

So he was not going to take full blame for it.

John won't last much longer.. he'll give it another day before John relents and calls in a repairman.

"Ah, well wanted to thank you for the tip on that attempted heist. The Italian authorities ended up arresting them just hours before they were to go on with the show. Would have called you earlier, but there was some craziness afterwards."

"Oh? What happened? The Hungarians didn't go without a firefight did they?"

"No. While they were in holding, they were killed. Found in the morning after the arrest. All of them."

"All of them?"

"All of them. Tongues were cut out too. As it would happen, no one saw a thing, and none of the officers heard a thing. Deaf and blind at the time apparently. Sound familiar?"

Quite. Moriarty got to them quickly.

"I have to go. Let me know if you have any more useful tips, always appreciated."

"I am sure they are."

Sherlock ends the call with the agent and leans back in his chair.

"Sherlock."

"Yes?"

"I just noticed the red container in the fridge-"

"Don't open it."

"Right."

Sherlock heard John mutter something else, but he didn't bother to try and sort it out. Moriarty must have been close by in order to get those men taken care of as quickly as he did. The last two times others in his crime ring had been arrested, it was at least three days before anyone was killed.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock hears the aggravation in John's voice now. He doesn't move, just smiles as he realizes what his flat mate found.

"Sherlock! Why is there a... bloody hell Sherlock what is that in the oven?"

"Why did you open the oven anyway? You were going to eat Chinese," Sherlock counters.

"Never mind that! Why are you using the oven to hold-"

"It's preserved," Sherlock drawls. "Wrapped and everything. I had no room in the fridge."

He hears John sputter, and his smile widens.

"Well, where was I supposed to put it?" Sherlock calls out, keeping the amusement out of his voice. "There was no room in the freezer with the fingers in there, and I am not allowed to use the microwave anymore."

"I have to disinfect the bloody thing now if I want to cook anything in there tomorrow!"

"Don't touch it, I'm going to be using it for an experiment tomorrow!"

"Bloody hell Sherlock, for once I would like to- wait why are there fingers in the freezer? How many could there be? They better not be next to the ice cream!"

Wait.. Ice cream... ice cream... Sherlock frowns as an old case in September after the Belgravia affair, pops up in his head.

A young girl, eighteen years old, dead.

Chilled to the touch even though the room she was in warm. There was a scent of cookies and mint in her clothes and skin. (He wasn't on the case, but he had talked his way into the morgue to get a look.)

_Cookies._

_Mint._

_Cool to the touch._

_OH!_

Sherlock turns quickly to his laptop, ignoring the continuing rants from John, and puts in the search for the article about the Demery girl's murder. She was on a weekend trip in London.

He takes note of the address and pulls it up on the map. Then clicks on the search by the address and types in two words.

Ah ha! "Yes!" Sherlock exclaims sounding gleeful to his own ears.

Ice cream parlor.

"Yes?" He hears John then. "Sherlock, are you even listening to me?"

"No," he answers, as he continues to tap onto his keyboard, opening other websites. He just needs to confirm just two things to prove he is right about the killer. The answers that pull up do that indeed, and he picks up his mobile to call Lestrade.

When the DI answers, he doesn't give him a chance to talk much. "This is Sherlock."

"I know," Lestrade's voice replies on the other end. Sounds like he gave in and had a cigarette.

"The Demery case. The killer is the owner of the ice cream parlour that is three buildings down from where she was found."

"Wait, wait.. The Demery case from September? How do you know the killer is the an ice cream parlour owner?"

Sherlock closes his eyes briefly, counts to five. "Why are you asking me how I know? Stop asking that, Lestrade, you would think after all this time the answer to how I know would be a moot point."

"Sometimes any sort of answer would be good. You do know it's January, and he would not be open."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Yes I know it's January, and he wouldn't be open to sell icecream. He was open in September for two weeks before closing for the season. She was found the day before closing. She smelled like ice cream flavors."

Lestrade mutters something about paperwork, then calls for Donovan. "How could you possibly know that? Never mind, don't tell me, I actually do not want to know. Have an idea why he would kill her?"

"Well, that is the question you need to ask. Him. Not me. But if you like, I can certainly go down to his address and ask him."

He hears John make a sound then and he glares at him, listening to Lestrade's response.

"Then stop wasting my time Lestrade. The only reason I called instead of just going is that I thought you would appreciate it. But if you're not going to, then I'll just go myself."

"No! Donovan and I are going. We're going," Lestrade says hastily. Sherlock smirks at the panic that rose in Lestrade's voice. "Donovan will look up the address. I know you already know it, and I know you're going to go anyway."

"Perfect. It shouldn't take you long to get there. John and I will meet you there," Sherlock does not wait for Lestrade to answer, simply ends the call and then goes to the door to get his coat and scarf.

"Wait, where are we going?"

"To Yaxley's Ice Cream Parlour. Hope you got your dinner tucked in."

"What just happened?"

Sherlock smiles at the bewilderment on John. "Really John, after almost a year now you would think you would know by now."

John glares at him and Sherlock sighs. "Put on your coat. I just solved a cold case for Lestrade. I never did text him about what I smelled on the girl earlier... I wound up getting distracted by the Paulson case," he adds as John puts on his coat and they head downstairs.

"Oh the one accidentally fell from the roof of an office building onto a car. Bad cover up that was."

"Indeed. Unfortunately, his killer had to ruin it all by trying to repeat the process with me."

"You do bring that urge out in people sometimes, Sherlock."

"It is not my fault that apparently killers cannot handle the truth about themselves," Sherlock states as the taxi slows down.

Sherlock debates about saying it as he hollers for the taxi he sees. After a moment of consideration, he decides to do so.

"Thank you, by the way."

"For what?"

"Whatever it is you were saying about ice cream. You helped solve it." Sherlock says as he opens the door to the taxi and gets in. He notices the look of surprise on John's face, and just stares ahead, a small smile forming. "Get in John, or we'll be late meeting Lestrade. Then I won't be able to find out Mr Yaxley killed Anita Demery. I do hate unanswered questions."

The deaths of two of his contacts are eventually pushed to the back of Sherlock's mind as he goes over the possible theories of why the Demery girl was killed, and what the confrontation with the killer may bring.


	3. Black, Orange, Blue

**Title: Reichenbach Falls- A Different Take (Part 3 Of A Different Take Series/Universe)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Moriarty, Moran, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson with Mycroft Holmes appearance a couple times.**

**Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor (as much one can be with this story), Hurt/Comfort**

**Warnings: Death, Murder, Violence, Language,**

**Spoilers: Reichenbach Falls is the title of the third episode/season finale (or episode 6) of Season 2.**

**Summary: It's February. John and Sherlock have known each other for a year now, their friendship strong, the bond that is between them is understood by them, but not by everyone else. Moriarty's plans for the two of them have been coming to fruition since January. Everyone they know, have helped and are close to them (as close one can get to Sherlock that is) are in danger.**

**A thanks to those who have reviews not only this story so far, but my others as well. Very much appreciated. Your feedback and comments really do help fuel my writing.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2 <strong>

**Black, Orange, Blue**

* * *

><p><em><strong>February 10th<strong>_

_**Time: 2:35**_

_**Location: Aeroplane**_

_**Sherlock looks at the mobile in his hand, tempted to turn it on. Most likely there will be at least one or two calls from Detective Inspector Lestrade.**_

_**Perhaps another from a possible client with an interesting case.**_

_**His mobile is plucked from his hand by John and put back into his coat pocket.**_

_**"You'll just make it worse."**_

_**True.**_

_**In about three hours, Mrs Hudson will come up to the flat. She does that, on the pretense of saying hello. Truthfully it's to do her usual mothering routine. John enjoys it, while Sherlock always found it amusing. She'll find the letter to give to Lestrade. Sherlock thinks it'll be another hour, maybe two before she remembers to give it to him.**_

_**Then she'll be at the Yard.**_

_**It will be the proper place for her.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Location: St Barts<strong>

**Time: 1 pm**

**Date: January 15th**

* * *

><p>John watches as Sherlock eyes the results of his latest experiment. It's times like this when the doctor in him starts to object to Sherlock using recently deceased for experiments like these, but he knows this is one area his protests have no impact.<p>

This is one of those things about a person that one has to find a way to accept and deal with.

"So the bruises came out like this?" Sherlock queries to Doctor Molly Hooper. "Hmm."

"I knew you would want to see it, instead of a text."

John smiles at the slight bite in her words. Over the past few months, Molly seemed to have grown more and more confident around Sherlock. Not as shy or timid, or starstruck as she used to be. Wasn't so easy to manipulate. In the past, it would take about two minutes, and a compliment for Sherlock to get what he wanted from her.

It took about ten minutes, bit more charm, and a promise to fill out the appropriate forms to do it now. Some days it took about fifteen to twenty minutes, depending on the mood that Sherlock caught her in.

John considered that an improvement. (Even if he did get stuck with filling out the appropriate forms.) He also considers that she had been through quite a lot in the past year, so perhaps the changes were a part of all that. First a boyfriend that was revealed to be a psychopath who runs a criminal organization, a car wreck during the summer, then framed for a series of murders in October. A second boyfriend revealed be a killer, (the one that framed her for the murders) and becoming a hostage in a standoff between Sherlock, John and a terrifically stupid forger who didn't want to go to prison.

Dr Hooper still had a horrendous crush, not helped since Sherlock saved her from prison and death. John could see that. She found a way to work around it and did quite well.

He knew Sherlock noticed. He wasn't quite as bullying or manipulative as he used to be with her. It seemed her having some backbone around him was a challenge to him. John knew Sherlock always appreciated challenges.

He was, however, a rude, antagonizing bully to her part time assistant and temporary replacement when Molly is not working, Doctor Andrea Caine.

Sherlock's foul mood, usually around when there is nothing to keep him occupied, had a tendency to return when Caine was around.

Then again Doctor Andrea Caine wasn't at all like Molly Hooper. When John met her, he thoroughly understood Sherlock's black mood. One meeting that John witnessed, he swore they would have come to blows if DI DI Dimmock hadn't been in the room. She was like Sgt Donovan, only Sgt Donovan was not as hostile as she used to be.

John could say that Sherlock taking a few days to recover from a beating he took to keep Donovan from being killed helped in that matter. Even though Sherlock said he only did it because Lestrade would have been quite upset over Donovan's death and that dealing with Lestrade mourning another's death is utterly annoying.

Sherlock's mobile buzzes, indicating a text. John watches as he takes another picture of the bruises, then reads the text.

Sherlock's eyes widen, and John straightens. Whatever his flatmate received, it wasn't good.

"Excuse me, Molly," he says quickly and heads out of the morgue, dialing a number. Molly looks a bit startled, looks at John then. John just shrugs and follows Sherlock out.

"When did he die?" He hears Sherlock ask. "How?" Silence then as whoever it is responds.

"What are the authorities saying?... Right. Well true he did not live in a good area, may have been a mistake... No thank you for letting me know Mrs Bradstreet. My condolences," He adds in a somber tone before ending the call.

"Sherlock?"

"Billy Bradstreet, an American and a hacker I knew, was murdered a few days ago. His mother found him the other day," Sherlock says. His voice is toneless, detached. John can see the wheels spinning.

"He was a source for you?"

Sherlock nods.

"I'm sorry."

"That's three now."

"Pardon?

"Three of my sources in the States are dead now."

John tilts his head. "There were two others?"

Sherlock nods again. "An FBI agent and a private investigator. I got the news of their deaths that day I solved the Demery case."

A feeling of unease crawls into John's stomach at that. Three people that Sherlock knew, three of them that were sources of his, are now dead. That's...

Don't assume. Dangerous to make assumptions, as Sherlock has said in the past.

"How far apart are the deaths?"

"A few days. Callie Winter, the private investigator, was killed in her home. The police have claimed that they have evidence leading to her ex husband, according to her mother. She turned evidence against him a few years back, and he recently was released from prison. Agent Baynes was killed in a shoot out with suspected domestic terrorists."

Plausible. Events like that can and do happen with no connection in between them. The feeling in John fades.

"Billy Bradstreet was shot in his home. Apparently the police think it may have been a case of misplaced identity, as there were a few drug dealers living in the area he was in, including one in the same building he was in. He was shot twice. Once in the heart, once in the head."

John flashes back to the last time he saw someone killed in that manner.

Eliza and Paul Barrymore.

It couldn't be.. could it?

"Sherlock..."

"I know what you're thinking. Possibly.. perhaps he..."

John steps forward to close the few feet of distance between them, so they can talk quietly. "You've been covering your tracks a lot better though... giving all your information to the authorities, making sure to leave your name out of it. How would he know?"

"Moriarty is clever, don't forget that. Perhaps I had faith in the wrong person, and my name slipped. Either way Callie Winters died just a few days after the Rome heist was avoided, and the arrests were made."

John notices that Sherlock looks a little uneasy, but then again so does he. "Of course, it could be paranoia. I would like to think it is."

"It's not hard to think you see Moriarty's hand in anything, not anymore. But you may be right," John says softly.

"Sherlock?" John hears Molly's voice calls out.

"I have to go for a walk, think," Sherlock states.

"I'll go see what Molly wants."

Sherlock nods, and John watches as the tall consultant walks down the hall. When he turns the corner, John heads back into the morgue to talk to Molly.

* * *

><p><strong>Location: St Barts Morgue <strong>

**Time: 1:30 pm**

* * *

><p>Molly watches John Watson depart the morgue, then she goes to her lab to check on some test results. She had been testing the pathogens found in a young woman's blood when that experiment of Sherlock's came to fruition.<p>

Another successful day of not letting Sherlock Holmes overwhelm her. Sometimes it could be quite difficult, other days not so.

It was quite stupid to have a crush on the man, she knew that. He was never going to look at her in the same way she looked at him.

It was his eyes. If it hadn't been for those gorgeous pale blue eyes...

Molly was a sucker for the eyes. It was what led her to two of her boyfriends. They had such beautiful eyes.

_Pity they were both killers._

She smiles at her thought. She never thought she would smile at being reminded that she had poor taste in men.

Two of them killers, the other one not capable of an emotional relationship with a woman, or anyone else.

Well perhaps some sort of relationship with Doctor Watson, although she doesn't try to figure that one out.

Molly remembers being quite resentful of John Watson at times. Of how he was the only that seemed to penetrate that armor around Sherlock Holmes, cementing a place in the detective's life in a way she had once wished she could have.

Now she didn't. She quite likes John Watson and feels sympathy for whatever he must put up with at times. They've had a few talks, and while she never outright admitted to her crush, the doctor knows about it.

Molly was just pleased that her crush no longer made her a fool one hundred percent of the time around Sherlock.

Just twenty percent now.

"Doctor Hooper?"

Molly spins in her chair, startled out of her thoughts. She frowns as she sees Doctor Andrea Caine.

"Doctor Caine?"

The brunette smiles. It looks odd on her really, since she's usually scowling. Molly silently chastises herself for that thought. Doctor Caine wasn't that awful.

"I was told you needed some help today, but not until later. I thought I'd come by early though."

"Oh.. yes well there's some testing that needs to be done. A bit of a backlog it seems. I could use the help."

The doctor nods and comes further inside, taking a white coat off the coat rack. "There's delivery person waiting for you, by the way."

"Oh?" Molly stands and crosses over the lab to the door. She peeks out into the morgue and sees.. a delivery man by the entrance to the morgue with a package.

"Keep an eye on that computer for a couple minutes," She says to Doctor Caine. "Let me know if the results come up."

Caine nods and Molly proceeds toward the delivery man. He's hovering outside of the morgue, as if he's trying not to show he doesn't want to be here.

"Doctor Molly Hooper?" He asks briskly.

"That would be me."

"Sign here," he holds out a clipboard.

"I didn't order anything."

"Didn't have to. Someone ordered something for you. I'm just the one that delivers it."

Right. She takes the clipboard, quickly signs it. He hands over the package as quickly as he takes the clipboard.

"Have a good day," he says gruffly, then hurries on down the hall.

Molly looks over the package with a burning curiosity.

It's not overly large, or heavy. She heads over to an empty slab, and takes off the wrapping, uncovering what she recognizes as one of those delivery boxes that hold flowers. The name of the company is unmistakably Irish.

She lifts the top, wondering who sent her flowers. No one she knows would send her flowers, not even on her birthday.

Molly lifts the lid, and her heart stops. The lid falls to the floor, her fingers now numb.

Three roses lay innocently in the wrapping. But deep down, she knows they are far from innocent.

One black, one orange, one blue.

Fear starts to thrum through her body.

The last time she received a delivery of these three roses, it was in April.

Jim sent them.


	4. Molly Brings A Message

**Title: Reichenbach Falls- A Different Take (Part 3 Of A Different Take Series/Universe)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Moriarty, Moran, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson with Mycroft Holmes appearance a couple times.**

**Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor (as much one can be with this story), Hurt/Comfort**

**Warnings: Death, Murder, Violence, Language,**

**Spoilers: Reichenbach Falls is the title of the third episode/season finale (or episode 6) of Season 2.**

**Summary: It's February. John and Sherlock have known each other for a year now, their friendship strong, the bond that is between them is understood by them, but not by everyone else. Moriarty's plans for the two of them have been coming to fruition since January. Everyone they know, have helped and are close to them (as close one can get to Sherlock that is) are in danger.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

**Molly Brings A Message**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Date: February 10th,2011<strong>_

_**Time: 2:40 pm**_

_**Location: Aeroplane**_

_**John watches Sherlock stare pensively out the window for a few minutes before looking away to take another sip from his drink. They haven't talked much since getting on the plane.**_

_**It wasn't as if they didn't have anything to say, it was simply a matter of not needing to say it at this point.**_

_**"Do you know what day this is?"**_

_**John glances over at Sherlock looking at him.**_

_**"February tenth."**_

_**"Do you remember what happened on this date, a year ago?"**_

_**John frowns, then thinks back. He remembers quite a lot from his time with Sherlock. The tenth of February...**_

_**Oh. "Stacia Desmond. Her dog walker turned obsessive stalker. You ended up in a confrontation with him."**_

_**Sherlock nods. "That was the same night you told me that you wanted to help with my cases.. while scolding me about my lack of self preservation."**_

_**John chuckles. "Apparently we're both lacking it at this time."**_

_**"It seem so."**_

* * *

><p><strong>Date: January 16th, 2010<strong>

**Location: Interpol National Central Bureau in Italy **

**Time: 3pm**

* * *

><p>Agent Renata Rodriguez walks through the garage, heading towards her car. She ignores the echo that her heels make in the quiet parking garage, focusing on getting her car keys out.<p>

It was a long day, dealing with the egos of the American FBI agents and the egos of the Polizia di Stato. And no doubt, it'll be an equally long night of squabbling with her husband when she gets home.

She passes another car, a silver fiat, just four cars away from hers. When the agent gets to her car, she pauses in the act of unlocking it, something getting her attention.

A security camera lying on the ground just a few feet away.

She moves away from the door and heads toward the camera, stopping as she hears the distinctive clicking sound of a gun.

"You really should have chosen your sources more carefully, Agent Rodriguez," she hears a feminine voice with a french accent drawl. "Turn around please."

"Why? Don't care to shoot me in the back?"

"I like face to face."

Five basic words that show Agent Rodriguez what type of person she's dealing with. She does turn around as requested. A woman just a few feet away with chestnut coloured hair and dark brown eyes that are hard, but have a gleam in them.

She's enjoying this.

Cold blooded killer.

"Thank you."

Those are the last words Agent Renata Rodriguez hears as she feels a blinding pain in her chest, then she feels nothing seconds later.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: January 18th, 2011<strong>

**Location: 45 Buckingham Gate, Bank Wesminster**

**Time: A little past 4 pm**

* * *

><p>"It's simple. Your blackmailer is your assistant."<p>

John watches as the vice president of the bank looks at Sherlock and then to the mild mannered looking young man standing just ten feet away.

Even after all this time of watching Sherlock work, there are still times when John can be surprised by how quickly the consulting detective can put together pieces of the puzzle when a case comes to him.

He was contacted by the vice president at seven this morning. Nine hours later, Sherlock was telling her who had been blackmailing her for over six months now... when her security people hadn't been able to find out one bloody thing.

Sherlock ended up hitting a wall in the case about two hours ago, but when John mentioned that if someone wanted to blackmail Sherlock, that they would have the perfect person to do it. John. (Not that John would do it, besides he doubts Sherlock would care if anyone tried to.)

Those few chosen words sent Sherlock down another path of rushed brilliance, and now here they are.

"Ryan?" She asks with doubt.

John sits back in his chair, as Sherlock goes about his deductions. For the next five minutes, the only person who heard talking is Sherlock as he goes on about Ryan Delmar's clothes, financial difficulties, his resentment towards the vice president (who had asked for Sherlock's help in finding out who was blackmailing her), his fiance's desperation to have a fancy wedding and the fact that neither has the money to pay for it.

Blackmailing the boss just so he can help his fiance succeed in having the wedding of her dreams.

John personally didn't know what to think of that.

Meanwhile, as Sherlock lists his deductions (while having taken just two breaths in the entire five minutes of his flood of words), Ryan Delmar is appearing more and more sickly.

"So, in conclusion, he is fifteen thousand pounds in debt, he's worked five years as your assistant and has hated every minute of it, and to top it off his fiance wants a wedding with the all the trimmings that will ultimately cost about forty thousand pounds, half of what he's been asking for in his blackmail scheme."

The vice president stares at the man who was her blackmailer.

"You bloody son of a bitch!"

* * *

><p><strong>Half Hour Later<strong>

* * *

><p>"Then she pretty much tried to throw him out the window," John finishes giving his statement to one of the officers. "That was when Security came in."<p>

"Thank you Doctor Watson. If we have any more questions, we'll phone you."

John nods. Turning away from the uniformed officers he sees Sherlock walking to the nearest lift, now apparently done with his statement.

John catches up just as the lifts doors are closing, but Sherlock's hand presses back against one of the doors, keeping them opened so John can get in.

"Thanks."

Sherlock nods, as his mobile rings. John feels a buzzing on his mobile indicating a message.

"Sherlock Holmes," he hears Sherlock answer as John checks his message.

iThinking about coming to London for two days. Think His Royal Highness can tolerate my presence for that long? Harry. /i

No. No. Oh god, again no. The last visit was a disaster of epic proportions.

At the end of it, John told her that he wouldn't accept any visits from her unless she was sober. That caused a ten minute row between them about her inability to see she has a problem.

John puts away his mobile, determined to ignore the text. Harry was most likely drunk, so she'd hopefully forget about it in a few hours.

He looks over at Sherlock, and blinks at the look on his flatmates face. He's standing still, looking a little dazed. He remembered that look when the elderly victim in Yorkshire, one of the victims of Jim Moriarty's game, ended up dying while Sherlock was on the phone with her.

"Right. Thank you for letting me know," Sherlock says stiffly. He ends the call and stares straight ahead.

"Sherlock?"

"My contact, Agent Renata Rodriguez of the Interpol National Center Bureau in Italy," Sherlock says quietly. "She's dead."

John inhales sharply.

"Two gun shot wounds. One to the heart, one to the head. At close range."

_Moran._

It had to be.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: January 21st, 2011<strong>

**Location: Paris, France **

**Time: 2 pm**

* * *

><p>The mobile next to her on the table rings.<p>

"Moran."

"I need you to do your task in Germany."

"I'm about to finish my task here."

"Get on a plane to Berlin as quick as you can."

Moran frowns at the insistence in the Boss's voice. "Something the matter?"

"Had to relocate."

Damn.

"What happened?"

"Viktor Porter is what happened."

Moran scowls. "I knew I should have shot him."

"Yes, well you'll get to do that in Germany. Finish your job there, then get moving."

"Yes, sir."

Moran ends the call, puts money on the table for her drink and leaves the small cafe.

The deputy prosecutor should be getting out of court in twenty minutes.

* * *

><p><strong>25 Minutes Later<strong>

* * *

><p>Moran pulls her rifle back and hides behind the pillar, smirking as she hears the panicked shouts of passerby's.<p>

She takes apart her rifle, putting each piece back in the case before snapping it shut.

Once done, she quietly slips away, no one of course noticing her. Everyone is a bit busy concentrating on a now dead deputy prosecutor.

Moran walks past rushing pedestrians and reaches her rental car. Once she is inside, her mobile rings.

"Nice touch," Boss's voice says with amusement. "With the reporters there and everything."

Moran smiles as she drives out into traffic. "I thought so. I'll be in Berlin as soon as I can."

"Good. After you handle Porter, you can take care of the other contact. How many left?"

"With the one in Berlin, it'll be three. Do you want me to cut short the list?" Moran's disappointed now. She'd been looking forward to going to Belgium for the last two. It was quite fascinating how Holmes's contacts were spread out.

"Best do so. The news of the prosecutor's death will reach Sherlock quickly. By the time he's figured it out, we can proceed to London to press my point further."

She licks her lips in anticipation.

Oh, this is going to be so much _fun._

* * *

><p><strong>Date January 21st, 2011<strong>

**Location: 221B Baker Street**

**Time: 7 pm**

* * *

><p>"Callie Winters. Harrison Baynes. Billy Bradstreet," John watches as Sherlock recite the names as he paces the sitting room.<p>

"Agent Rodriguez and now.. now Jean Claude Desrosiers," Sherlock spits out in obvious frustration gesturing towards the news program currently playing on the telly.

"How did you end up with a prosecutor in another country as a source?" John asks curiously.

"Hmm? Oh.. when I was in Paris during my travels. It's not important now. What is important, five of my contacts, sources of information, are now dead. The few others I have in the States are alive, as far as I know. They can be tricky to track down. But Winters, Baynes, Bradstreet, they wouldn't be difficult."

"The Interpol agent?"

"Wiretap on a phone or office. The prosecutor, Desrosiers, same thing. Moriarty's assassin is killing off my contacts."

"He's figured out you were behind the tips that helped net arrests of those in his organization."

Sherlock nods then starts pacing faster. "I apparently wasn't able to cover my tracks as cleanly as I thought I did. Or he just simply figured it out. Either way, Moran has now killed them, and she's most likely in the process of tracking down another one of my contacts. Of course, I won't know who it is until it's too late."

"This is his plan," John says quietly.

"Pardon?"

"What he said he had in store for us, for you, when were at Baskerville Hall," John speaks up. "If you didn't back off."

"He wants me to feel guilty. As if I caused their deaths." Sherlock's pacing doesn't let up. "I didn't cause it. I'm not the one that killed them. I have no reason to feel any guilt."

But you do, John thinks silently. It's why you're declaring it now.

There's a knock on the door which is currently closed. Sherlock ignores, still pacing.

"Sherlock!" John hears Doctor Molly Hooper call out. "Mrs Hudson said you're here. Please, open the door, it's about.. it's about him!"

Sherlock comes to a halt in surprise. John quickly moves from his chair to the door. Molly Hooper rushes inside, holding what looks to be a package. Her hair's loose, and she has the expression of someone afraid.

"Moriarty?" Sherlock bites out.

She nods, looking scared. "I think I'm being followed or something. It started about five days ago. I'm not really sure though. But I keep getting that sense you know?"

"Here, sit down, Molly," John urges, guiding her to a chair. When she sits, John takes the other seat. "Why do you think it's him though?"

"Because of the roses!"

Sherlock and John both stare at her. "Roses?"

Molly nods, and holds out the package that she was holding. It's a flower box used for deliveries. John lifts the lid and sees three roses. One black, one orange, one blue.

"He sent the first delivery to me on the fifteenth. This package was leaning against my door when I got home," Molly says in a rush. "I tossed them in the bin the first opportunity. I just wanted to ignore it, hope that it was just a nasty prank from someone. Everything had been going so well these past few weeks," she says in a heartbreaking manner. Sympathy wells up in John. He hates seeing Molly like this, after getting to see what she can do.

"I know it's him," she continues, her voice breaking a little. After what she's gone through, coming out stronger because of it, it's clear that one thing can truly terrify her. John's not surprised, as Moriarty is an entirely different situation.

"It can only be Jim. The last time I got those was in April. On the sixth. To apologize for breaking our date earlier, but he had something else planned."

Oh yes, he had something planned. Such as abducting me and forcing a stand off at the pool.

"He's back, isn't he? He was never killed in that explosion. I always felt that he wasn't, but I wanted to believe it."

Until now, it had been quietly assumed by most of Scotland Yard and everyone else that he was. The only ones who knew differently were John, Sherlock and Mycroft. John looks up at Sherlock then and sees nothing but a blank mask, but behind those pale blue eyes, wheels are spinning.

"No Molly," John says quietly, clasping one of her shaking hands. "He wasn't."

"But why did he send me these roses? Am I really being followed? Why me? He was just using me last time," she cries. She looks at Sherlock. "I don't know anything, really. Nothing pertinent to him. What's he playing at?"

John has an idea exactly on Moriarty is doing, and by the clenching of Sherlock's jaw, he may be right.

Molly's the message. She just doesn't know it.

A message telling Sherlock that anyone he knows isn't safe right now.


	5. The Question That Persists

**Title: Reichenbach Falls- A Different Take (Part 3 Of A Different Take Series/Universe)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Moriarty, Moran, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson with Mycroft Holmes appearance a couple times.**

**Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor (as much one can be with this story), Hurt/Comfort**

**Warnings: Death, Murder, Violence, Language,**

**Spoilers: Reichenbach Falls is the title of the third episode/season finale (or episode 6) of Season 2.**

**Summary: It's February. John and Sherlock have known each other for a year now, their friendship strong, the bond that is between them is understood by them, but not by everyone else. Moriarty's plans for the two of them have been coming to fruition since January. Everyone they know, have helped and are close to them (as close one can get to Sherlock that is) are in danger.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

**The Question That Persists**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Date: February 10th, 2011<strong>_

_**Time: 2:49 pm**_

_**Location: Aeroplane**_

_**Sherlock checks his watch, noting the time. It should be another five, possibly six minutes before the pilot announces they will be descending.**_

_**Sherlock glances over at John, who is currently chatting with one of the flight attendants.**_

_**Strange, how things have come to pass.**_

_**Most, when they first see John, don't truly see him. Unless he lets them.**_

_**Unassuming, quiet, always in the background, never bringing any attention to himself unless it is needed.**_

_**They do not know the real John Watson.**_

_**Sherlock does though.**_

_**Brave, compassionate, moral, loyal, intelligent, and definitely dangerous. No one sees the dangerous side to him.**_

_**Sherlock does.**_

_**In general he can predict what John does, but there are times when he exceeds past the predictions. When John surprises him. **_

_**So, in a sense it should surprise him, how far he is willing to go to protect John, but strangely, it does not. **_

_**It should surprise him on what John is willing to do for him.**_

_**It does not.  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>Date: January 22, 2011<strong>

**Location: 221B Baker Street**

**Time: 3 am**

* * *

><p>Sherlock sits in his chair, watching Doctor Molly Hooper sleep on his sofa.<p>

John had been able to calm Molly down, get her to drink some tea. It took some considerable effort, as Molly had not handled the truth of Jim Moriarty truly being back very well.

She didn't feel safe going back to her flat, and John told her to take the sofa. He would escort her back to her flat later.

Sherlock looks over at the roses laying on the desk.

Moriarty was using Molly to tell him a remarkably basic message.

The message was received, loud and clear.

Moriarty may not be back in London yet... or he may be. To confirm it, he needs more data than what he has now.

He looks at his watch. She must be here.

Quietly, so not to disturb any of the sleeping occupants, Sherlock stands to put on his long coat and scarf. He heads down the stairwell and quietly shuts the door, meeting the cold air of the outside.

"Change, sir?"

Ah, he was right. Cilla looks a bit dirtier, but she was dressed warmly. A new coat from the looks of it.

"Hungry I wager?"

"Always, sir."

He steps forward, handing her the written note hidden in the twenty pound banknote. "Get a good meal then."

"Of course, sir," she says with a smirk and Cilla walks off.

"Bit cold out, don't you think?" Sherlock hears a man ask gruffly behind him. "Especially for a meeting at three in the bloody morning?"

"Angelo," Sherlock smiles and turns around to see the reformed criminal.

"What do you need Sherlock?"

He hands him the note from his other pocket. Sherlock knows that while Angelo has changed his way, he still has his ear to the ground.

Angelo shivers in the cold as he reads the note. "How come you're not cold?"

"No idea, I'm wearing the same amount as you."

"Right." The burly man crumples the note, shoving it in his pocket. "I think I'm going to stop and get something to eat since I'm up now. Hungry?"

"No, thank you for the offer."

Angelo nods briskly and walks on past Sherlock.

Sherlock watches the man for a minute, then heads back inside.

It was a risk using Cilla and Angelo, but risks needed to be taken.

* * *

><p><strong>6 Hours Later<strong>

* * *

><p>Sherlock opens the door, standing back to let John and Molly out first, before stepping outside, letting the door close behind him. He hears John reassuring Molly that everything will be fine. Serlock noticed that with some sleep, that Molly seems to have gotten a better hold of herself.<p>

"Taxi!" Sherlock throws up his hand, hailing the cab that he spots just down the ways.

"I think I can get to my flat by myself, John." Sherlock inwardly smiles at the firmness in Molly's words. The confidence that she had the other day, starting to come back. "I can't let him think he's winning, you know? I have to be strong."

"There's nothing wrong with having an escort home Molly. It doesn't say you aren't strong," John argues.

Ah, noble John.

"He would think so. I'm not going to let him win. I know I was upset last night, but now that I talked to the two of you, I feel better."

"I'm glad you feel better Molly, but really I would feel better if I escorted you home," John says just as firm as Molly.

"Let him do so, Molly," Sherlock drawls, as he opens the door to the taxi. "As he said, it will make him feel better."

"All right. Bother, I'm late to Barts too...they most likely called in Doctor Caine. I'll have to call them when I get home." Molly pauses in the act of getting into the taxi, turns and looks up at Sherlock.

He notes the shyness that threatens to appear, that does appear before being battled back. Her warm, dark brown eyes, such a difference from another pair of dark brown eyes that Sherlock knows, smile at him.

"Thank you," she says softly.

"For what?"

"Not making me feel like a fool last night."

Sherlock blinks. "You are no fool, Molly Hooper. You have proven that through these past few months." He has found his estimation of Molly Hooper has certainly risen due to the events she had been put in. Also, he finds that he quite enjoys the challenge when she stands up to him.

Most people, with the things she had experienced since April, would have packed it in by now. The pathologist has not. In fact, she keeps going.

Sometimes it's the ones that you least expect to surprise you that do indeed, surprise you.

That's two people Sherlock knows now that have surprised him.

She snorts. "I'm a fool," she counters. "But I'm a fool that's become a lot wiser now," Molly adds then gets into the taxi. John and Sherlock share a look before John gets in.

Sherlock watches the taxi drive off. When he turns to go back inside, just down the street he spots Cilla.

Time to find out what she may have dug up.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: January 24th, 2011<strong>

**Location: Undisclosed part of London**

**Time: Unknown, but mid day**

* * *

><p>Moriarty looks away from the computer screen in front of him as he hears Moran cursing loudly, and in French.<p>

Perhaps he will find out why his pet is so late in arriving in London. He and the others had left while she stayed behind to sort out the idiot Porter.

Her excellent work on the personal assistant of that big businessman in Berlin made the news yesterday. A bit more bigger splash than he wanted, with the woman's home burning down.

Porter's body had been found there to. So two birds killed with one stone it appears.

"Where is she?" Moriarty snaps as one of his organizers come into his study.

"The doctor is tending to her."

Moriarty frowns. She's useless to him if wounded. However, he needs her for this task. She's his best sniper. He does not want to pull back on this.

Moriarty pushes out of the chair with annoyance and heads down the hall, people skittering out of the way as quickly as possible.

One unfortunate does not move out of his way as quickly enough as he would like. It delayed him by ten seconds. That one will be dealt with soon enough.

Moriarty stops in the doorway to the doctor's lab, eying the older gentlemen as Moran sits still, as cuts on her right shoulder are being tended to.

Bruises on her right cheek, cuts on her forearm.

"You should have come as soon as these wounds appeared. Lucky for you nothing is serious," the doctor scolds.

"I had work to take care of you idiot," Moran snaps. "Much more important."

"The personal assistant gave you some trouble?" Moriarty asks, as his anger fades. Nothing serious here. She's not useless. Good. He'd hate to have to train a new pet.

"Not her," Moran grumbles. "Porter. I used her car in the end to take him out. Then dragged his useless carcass into the living room to lay next to her."

"How many times?"

"Four."

Moriarty raises an eyebrow. "He angered you that badly?"

"He screwed you over, then he tried to kill me."

Her loyalty towards him is evident here with those simple words. "Well I thank you for your efficiency then. So even though your wounds were not serious, you had to lay low for a bit. Which would explain the delay coming here."

"Apologies for the delay, boss, but yes."

"Nothing serious from the looks of it though."

"Nothing serious. I'm just waitin for the doctor to finish."

"Almost done."

"Good. Once you are finished with him my dear, my study. I have a list for you. We will have to start work quickly, as I am quite sure Sherlock knows we are here now." Moriarty pauses. "If he isn't aware, he will know soon."

The smile that forms on his pets features reminds Moriarty how fortunate he is to come across Sébastienne Moran. Such a delightful find to have such a weapon for his use.

Now, to address another question that persists. Shall he make another delivery to sweet Molly Hooper?

* * *

><p><strong>Date: January 24th, 2011<strong>

**Location: Angelo's Diner**

**Time: Mid Day- Almost 4pm**

* * *

><p>"That's all I got Sherlock," Angelo says in a hushed whisper. "I'm sorry, I wish I got more."<p>

"It's all right Angelo," Sherlock assures him. "It was a long shot."

"I will let you know if anything else comes back to me," Angelo promises. "Meanwhile, the meal is on the house for you two. As usual."

Sherlock turns and walks through the diner, back to the front at his usual table where John is currently tucking in his meal.

So far, nothing. Cilla said that there whispers but nothing concrete. Angelo's past associates wouldn't confirm or deny anything. Most likely out of fear.

"What's the plan?"

Sherlock looks away from the telly bolted to the wall behind the counter to John.

"No one's admitting if Moriarty is back in London."

"Well no one's been killed yet."

"True," Sherlock nods to that. "Moran could still be hitting my contacts. I haven't been able to get hold of one in particular since yesterday afternoon.

"Maybe Mycroft knows something?"

Sherlock grimaces at the thought of going to his brother.

"I know you don't want to Sherlock, but Mycroft has resources at his disposal, more than you do."

"Sometimes when you are logical, it can be annoying."

John chuckles.

"I suppose you also are going to point out that we need to talk to Lestrade."

"It'd be a good idea. Since Moriarty is targeting people you know," John pauses and then looks past Sherlock, then back to him. "Like Angelo."

Lestrade would be another.

Donovan. Anderson.

Sherlock shrugs off the thought of Anderson being killed. He doesn't quite care about Anderson. Maybe his replacement would actually have intelligence.

Sherlock wisely does not voice his thoughts. He does not need a lecture now.

"I doubt he knows about Angelo, but I did tell him to be careful."

"I imagine it would be a lot of work to warn everyone you helped."

"It would..." Sherlock trails off as the reporter on the telly gains his attention.

"Now for news across the world. A tragedy has occurred in Berlin, Germany. Ariane Vogt, the personal assistant to Isaak Eisenburg of Eisenburg Electronics And Energy, is dead. She was found shot to death in her living room, after the fire that had been set was finally put out. Another body was found as well, now recently identified as former convict Viktor Porter. Authorities are assuming that Porter killed Ariane, then set fire to the home. As to how he died, the cause has not been made yet."

Hell.

"Sherlock? Was she-"

"Yes," Sherlock confirms.

"But Porter, he was the companion that had travelled to Baskerville with Moran."

Sherlock nods. "I remember."

"Moriarty must have decided he was no longer needed then. Why wasn't Moran behind this one?"

"That is the question... who knows if we will get the answer."

Silence falls between the two men.

"Even if you could warn everyone you know, it's not a matter of how long it would take," John says after a couple of minutes. "It's more of a matter of whether or not it's too late to do so."

"Correct," Sherlock answers. Logically, it's nearly impossible for him to track down everyone he knows and warn them to protect themselves. He could try of course, but Sherlock knows it would be a wasted effort.

All he can do now is wait for Moriarty to make an appearance.

History says he will.

However, the question that currently persists is that how many more will die before he does?


	6. Four Little Words No DI Wants To Hear

**Title: Reichenbach Falls- A Different Take (Part 3 Of A Different Take Series/Universe)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Moriarty, Moran, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson with Mycroft Holmes appearance a couple times.**

**Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor (as much one can be with this story), Hurt/Comfort**

**Warnings: Death, Murder, Violence, Language. Minor Character Death In This Chapter.**

**Spoilers: Reichenbach Falls is the title of the third episode/season finale (or episode 6) of Season 2.**

**Summary: It's February. John and Sherlock have known each other for a year now, their friendship strong, the bond that is between them is understood by them, but not by everyone else. Moriarty's plans for the two of them have been coming to fruition since January. Everyone they know, have helped and are close to them (as close one can get to Sherlock that is) are in danger.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

**Four Words No DI Wants To Hear **

* * *

><p><em><strong>Date: February 10th, 2011<strong>_

_**Time: 2:52 pm**_

_**Location: Aeroplane**_

_**Time is going by slow.**_

_**Perhaps it's the task that lays before him that makes it seem like it is?**_

_**The announcement will be any minute.**_

_**Sherlock's stomach tightens, and he grimaces at the show of nerves. He cannot afford anything but calm right now.**_

_**He closes his eyes, counts to ten.**_

_**Focus.**_

_**Focus on what lies ahead.**_

_**Focus on what the result will be.**_

_**As he does, something that Sgt Sally Donovan said once, before she called a truce between them, echoes.**_

_"One day, you'll be the death of him," she sneers, as the both of them are being patched up by medics. "Or he'll be the death of you."_

_**She went on about how the second part might be a relief, but he ignored that.**_

_**"Sgt Donovan said once that you would be the death of me."**_

_**He can see he startled John as their eyes meet.**_

_**"Did she?"**_

_**Sherlock nods.**_

_**"She told me once that you would be the death of me."**_

_**"Always thought she could be over dramatic," Sherlock drawls, smiling slightly.**_

_**John's returning smile is slight. "Like someone else I know."**_

* * *

><p><strong>Date: January 27th,2011<strong>

**Location: An Alley**

**Time: 7 pm**

* * *

><p>Lestrade scowls at the sight of three homeless people laid out in front of him. All with gunshot wounds to the heart and head.<p>

The one in the middle, with the dirty blonde hair and the oddly new looking coat, seemed a little familiar to him. Like he's seen her before.

The other two were older gentlemen.

Earlier this morning, DI Dimmock told him about the five dead homeless he was called in on around three am.

"Looks like the same manner of death," Sgt Donovan says as she comes up to him. Sgt Caswell is talking on his mobile. Why, Lestrade has no idea.

"Seems we have someone who dislikes London's homeless," Lestrade comments, noticing the grimace from Donovan at the roughness of his voice. He hasn't slept all that easily the past few days.

"Want to know what's interesting?" Sgt Donovan asks.

"Not really, but what is it?"

"There's been some others killed like this. Shot in the heart and head over on the Mainland."

Lestrade recalls some of the news he's listened to the past few days.

An Interpol agent shot to death in a parking garage. The security camera near the car disabled.

A prosecuting attorney, well known and highly regarded, shot to death in Paris.

A personal assistant to a huge CEO in Germany shot to death in Berlin. According to the news, it was thought her killer was killed with her. But recent reports showed up saying that the other was not the killer.

"I swear the blonde one looks familiar," He hears Donovan grumble.

"Ah, so I'm not the only one that thinks that. Good." Lestrade aches for a cigarette right now. The nicotine would help so much.

"Caswell, do you have any cigarettes on you?"

"I thought you were on the patch," Lestrade hears a particular voice say behind him. A certain consulting detective's voice.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here?"

The consultant comes into view as he steps in front of Lestrade. Donovan is heard muttering 'Freak' but it seems routine now. Lestrade knows that Donovan and Holmes have come to some sort of truce.

"What is he doing here?" Lestrade hears Anderson say in a resentful sneer.

"Shut it, Anderson." Lestrade snaps, then nods to John Watson who hasn't said anything. The man nods back.

"Cilla," he hears Sherlock murmur, sounding almost regretful.

Regret? From Sherlock?

Lestrade shakes his head at that, pushing forward to what he can understand. "You know her Sherlock?"

Sherlock turns around, and Lestrade notices that the man looks quite tired, more so than usual.

"I know her. As well as the other two, plus the five that were found dead earlier this morning."

"They were part of his homeless network," John speaks up then.

"Oh! Cilla's the blonde, yes? I thought she looked familiar. She was the one that told me where I could find you were during that incident with the Tay- Wait, how did you know to come down here?"

"Sgt Caswell."

Lestrade whirls to look back at the Sergeant.

"I recognized her," Caswell says simply. "Thought Holmes should know."

Lestrade is about to nod in response to that, when his mind turns on what has been revealed. The murdered homeless, part of the network that can get information to Sherlock if he needs it acquired differently. Their deaths similar to those on the Mainland.

"What's going on Sherlock?" Lestrade asks sharply, his eyes narrowing on the consultant.

Pale blue eyes meet his.

"We have to talk, Lestrade."

Detective Inspector Lestrade's stomach suddenly tightens and dread fills the pit of it.

Four words that no one wants to hear, especially at a scene like this, from a man named Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: January 27th, 2011<strong>

**Location: Scotland Yard**

**Time: 8:30 pm**

* * *

><p>Lestrade was right about those four little words.<p>

He stares at the still figures of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

"Moriarty is alive?"

Fucking fantastic. The terrorist is still alive. The goddamn pyschopathic, bomb crazy, leader of a criminal organization and terrorist is still fucking alive.

Lestrade knew he shouldn't have gotten up this morning.

"I never believed he was dead," the consulting detective speaks up again. "The identification process that id'd that body was flimsy at best."

"We did the best we could do with what we had." Lestrade sighs. "How long have you two known?"

Both men exchange looks and Lestrade's jaw tightens.

"How long, Sherlock?"

"Since November."

"November?"

"We found out when at Baskerville Hall," John chimes in. "We met his assassin, Sébastienne Moran, there."

The holiday that was such a disaster, according to John, that he planned on never taking one again with Sherlock.

He didn't go into the details, but from what he had originally thought was that Sherlock made the thing miserable.

"What did happen there?"

"Nothing you want to know," Sherlock says with a wave of his hand. "What is important was that Moran was keeping an eye on us for Moriarty. He sent me another message. Told me to call of my sniffers."

"Your sniffers?"

"His choice of words, not mine. I had been putting out feelers, trying to locate him. Deep down I knew he wasn't dead. Once he had confirmed it, I took the considerable effort to hide my part in tracking him down. When a tip came to me, I gave it to those higher up. Interpol mainly, other law agencies. They've been able to arrest some members of Moriarty's organization. Recently a major heist being planned in Italy by a group of Hungarian came to my attention. I tipped off Interpol who sent a red notice to the proper authorities."

"They were killed in custody," John Watson adds. "Same thing happened when other members when arrested. A few days later, Sherlock's Interpol contact, Agent Rodriguez was killed. Before that some of his contacts in the States were killed also. All the same M.O."

"So this Moran is killing people you know?"

Sherlock Holmes nods. "First it was three of my contacts in the States, then three in the Mainland. Now, she's doing it here in London. Moriarty has to be here as well."

"So what you're telling me is that the people you know that have helped you, or you have helped is a target?" Lestrade asks.

"Including you."

Lestrade wasn't surprised to hear that, just resigned.

"You sure about that?"

Sherlock nods.

"Ah, well thanks for telling me now," Lestrade stresses the word. "How much longer were you going to wait until you told me?"

"Until I had proof that Moriarty and Moran were in London," Sherlock says bluntly, no regret in his words or eyes.

"Sorry," John Watson murmurs. Well at least someone apologizes around here.

"Right. So.. where do we go from here?"

"Watch your back. Donovan as well. Caswell. Your team as a whole."

"Anderson too?"

John glares at Sherlock when the man doesn't respond. Sherlock sighs.

"Anderson too."

Lestrade's mobile rings then, and he looks at the caller ID. Blocked number. His gut twists.

"Lestrade," he answers at the third ring.

"Hello Detective Inspector Lestrade," a female voice with a french accent says sweetly on the other line. Nice voice... "This is Sébastienne Moran."

Shite.

"Well I can tell from that silence you must have Sherlock Holmes and John Watson in your office. I can't confirm that, as my special eye is taking in a very nice view of another room. How are you, by the way? Your voice sounds a bit rough. Haven't been sleeping much have you?"

Lestrade's stomach tightens. "It happens with my profession."

The woman chuckles. "So does dying." Before he can respond to that, her voice sharpens. "Put me on speaker, please."

Lestrade does that, setting his mobile on his desk.

"Boys? Are you there?"

Lestrade notices both men stiffen at the Moran's voice.

"Oh come now, answer me. Or I'll just move my special eye to the teenager that's sitting at her computer in her bedroom, instead of her father."

"We're here," John Watson speaks up.

"Hello Johnny boy, so good to hear your voice. I've missed you. Did you miss me?"

"Not particularly," John Watson says coldly.

"Oh, I'm hurt. Sherlock, are you there?"

"Yes," Sherlock says in a flat tone.

"Good to hear your wonderful voice also. I thought I'd call, catch up a little bit. Did you like my present I left you?"

"You call killing eight defenseless homless people a present?" Lestrade barks.

"Well Cilla definitely was not defenseless. Had a wicked dagger on her. Did her no use though. But so good of you to defend the homeless, Detective Inspector. Your morality is shining through nice and clear."

"Your lack of one is shining through also," he retorts.

She laughs on the other end. "Oh boss would most certainly like you. So, gentlemen, I am currently wondering if I should go through with my task here now, or wait another day and choose someone else. Maybe the Baskervilles..."

Lestrade wonders who in Sherlock's information circle or which client he's helped in the past is now being targeted by this assassin.

"It would be a shame to kill him," He hears Moran murmur, sounding thoughful. "A beautiful teenage daughter, a young son, a patient wife that waited for her husband to be released. A reformed criminal now doing honest work."

"Angelo."

Lestrade's gaze turns from the phone to Sherlock Holmes, to see the usually collected genius looking a little shaken now.

He flashes back to that five pips case, when Sherlock had to prove how the painting was a fake. Sherlock looked shaken then when they all realized that Moriarty was using a kid then, but he regained his composure when he figured it out.

"Angelo Carmelli, correct. Sherlock, you have given me so many to choose from here, in London alone. Not to mention other places in England. Hmm.. so much to think about. Well, it's time I ended this call now. Take care, gentlemen, we will be talking oh so soon." A dial tone seconds later as the call ends.

Lestrade is as silent as the other two men in his office. The only sound being heard is Sherlock dialing a number on his mobile. Lestrade knows he's trying to contact Angelo.

Would that be the same Angelo that he thought had committed a particularly vicious triple murder, but Sherlock had proved was house breaking at the time of it?

"No one's answering," Sherlock mutters, as he ends the attempted call. Once he does, his mobile buzzes, indicating a text has been sent to him.

Lestrade watches as the younger man looks at the caller id, and something makes the man stiffen.

"What is it?" John Watson asks.

"It says we all need to listen."

Lestrade frowns. "What?" He's still trying to wrap his head around that whole bloody call.

Watson's mobile rings then, and the doctor searches his coat's pockets before getting it out, and answering it on the fourth ring.

He frowns as he listens to what is on the other line, then presses a button, setting it on the desk,

The sounds are of dishes being washed, Lestrade can tell.

"Angelo! Can you replace the bin liners?" A feminine voice calls out, sounding a bit distant.

A muffled male voice is heard responding.

Then they all hear an exceptionally clear sound a few seconds later. Glass breaking. Then a woman screaming.

"ANGELO!"


	7. Phone Calls

**Title: Reichenbach Falls- A Different Take (Part 3 Of A Different Take Series/Universe)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Moriarty, Moran, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson with Mycroft Holmes appearance a couple times.**

**Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor (as much one can be with this story), Hurt/Comfort**

**Warnings: Death, Murder, Violence, Language, Deaths of Previous Minor Characters  
><strong>

**Spoilers: Reichenbach Falls is the title of the third episode/season finale (or episode 6) of Season 2.**

**Summary: It's February. John and Sherlock have known each other for a year now, their friendship strong, the bond that is between them is understood by them, but not by everyone else. Moriarty's plans for the two of them have been coming to fruition since January. Everyone they know, have helped and are close to them (as close one can get to Sherlock that is) are in danger.**

**Author's Note: Some of the people I mentioned below come from my earlier fics. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

**Phone Calls**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Date: February 10th, 2011<strong>_

_**Time: 2:55 pm**_

_**Location: Aeroplane**_

_**The pilot stops talking, and Sherlock feels the plane start to descend. It will not be long now until the plane stops, they depart and they head for their destination.**_

_**"Sherlock?"**_

_**"Yes?"**_

_**"Do you ever think back to the day when Stamford introduced us?"**_

_"This is an old friend of mine, John Watson."_

_**"Once or twice since then. But recently, no." Sherlock braces a foot on the floor and stretches the muscles. "Have you spoke to him recently?"**_

_**"Last time we spoke was on the third of January."**_

_**"Oh," Sherlock grimaces.**_

_**"I used to talk with him now and then, during the first couple months we became flatmates. Since then, all we've done were two minute chats in passing."**_

**_Sherlock feels a pang of guilt rise in him, but he ruthlessly squashes it._**

_**"It's a good thing I suppose."**_

_**"Why?"**_

_**"He's safe because of it."**_

_**From Moran. Moriarty.**_

_**Soon, no one will have to worry about that anymore. **_

* * *

><p><strong>Date: January 30th, 2011<strong>

**Location: Scotland Yard**

**Time: Sometime past five.**

* * *

><p>Sherlock barely notices the cup of coffee set down in front of him as he ends the call, then checks his contacts list.<p>

"Where's your flatmate?" Sgt. Sally Donovan's voice registers though.

"Checking in on Doctor Molly Hooper."

"Aren't you worried he might end up with two bullet wounds if he's not with you?"

"No, because Moran won't go for John until she's done with everyone else. Or whenever Moriarty tells her to. Now would not be the opportune time."

He hears a snort, and the words "cold hearted" muttered by Sgt Donovan. He hears a chair pull out next to him and notices out of the corner of his eye that she sits.

"You should drink that coffee."

"Don't need it."

"Right, because the great Sherlock Holmes doesn't need anything does he?"

Wrong. But that is something she does not need to know, let alone anyone else. Even he doesn't care to admit to, even in his own head.

"I see Anderson has not taken you ending your affair very well."

She inhales sharply. "I thought we had some sort of truce going, Freak."

"No, you had some sort of truce going with me." Sherlock counters, not bothering to look up from his mobile. "You decided because I took a vicious beating to stall those criminals, so Lestrade and others could arrive in time that I saved your life. Therefore, you decided to ease your hostility towards me."

"So I was wrong then? You didn't deliberately anger them to get their attention off me? You decided it would be fun to take a beating because you were bored?" Sherlock hears the challenge in Sgt Sally Donovan's voice.

"Lestrade would have been unhappy with your death," Sherlock says, keeping his tone brisk and cool. "He would have then had trouble finding a suitable replacement for you, and I would have had to hear it over and over. Your mother would have had difficulty getting the finances to take care of your funeral, also would have struggled to raise your sister, as you helped out financially with that. Anderson then would have turned his attentions to someone else... so in the end by taking the beating I saved everyone a lot of trouble. Excuse me, I have to make this call."

Silence. He prefers it. He dials the number.

A few rings later confirms that Marian Tavington is indeed still alive, and currently in Japan.

He ends the call and goes through more of his contacts.

"I should hit you."

"Do as you like."

"How did you know about my sister?"

Sherlock gestures to Donovan's desk, which is about three away from the one he is at. "You do not have a lot of clutter on it, but you have two pictures. One of an older woman, the other of a younger one. You are not married, and the two times I have been in your flat there is no evidence of a child, so you are not a single mother. The older woman has similar features to yours, so your mother. Same with your sister. She's a late in life child, as your mother had her when you were at least seventeen years older. Your father died a year after you entered the force."

"Freak."

"Well there's that passion that has been missing the last few times you called me that."

"Oh have you missed it now?"

Sherlock smiles at that, and finally looks at Sgt Donovan.

"You're contacting everyone on your mobile I see. So you do care."

He feels a muscle in his cheek jump at that observation. "Trying to work on your observation skills? Isn't that more useful at your crime scenes, Sergeant?"

He wishes she would go away, possibly harass Lestrade or someone else.

It has been a trying few days. Angelo died, then on the twenty eighth, Lawrence Stephenson, the student that had come to him about melting laptop, died during a night out with his friends. PC Jane Downing, the one who had the superstitious husband that died (A case he had before he met John) was found a few hours later dead in her car yesterday.

Sergeant Caswell turned into a target as well, Moran deciding to stay nearby that very crime scene. He was lucky that when Moran took her shot at him, Caswell bent down to get a closer look at the slash in Downing's front passenger tire. Caswell was then able to evade two more shots after that, getting quickly inside a building to escape Moran.

Moran made up for missing Caswell.

She killed Jacob Pettingham, the boy with the stolen bicycle, and his mother at midnight. They were found earlier today.

"She's stone cold," Donovan says with disgust. "To kill a boy so easily."

"Snipers are trained to leave their emotions out of it. She became quite good at what she did for the French, so no doubt they trained her exceedindly well. Moriarty has taken advantage of that." Sherlock notices Donovan looking uneasy now. Time to fix that, her performance will suffer."Caswell?"

"He's fine. Still a little shaken, and a bit paranoid. Then again most of us are."

"You have reason to be."

"Thanks."

"Your welcome."

Donovan scowls at him. "Sarcasm, Sherlock."

"I was choosing to ignore it."

"Obviously."

2 Hours Later

Sherlock was annoyed that Donovan was still sitting next to him and not at her desk. If he didn't know any better, he would say Lestrade assigned her to him.

"Go away, Donovan."

"No."

Sherlock sighs. His mobile rings then and he gladly takes advantage of it.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock."

Sherlock closes his eyes at the commanding, familiar female voice on the other line.

"You didn't look at your caller identification did you?"

No, no he did not. Anything to avoid talking to Donovan.

"Hello Mummy," he says, then notices a startled look from Donovan at that.

The memory of his mother and Donovan's one meeting almost makes him smile.

"Your brother told me that you were at Scotland Yard. Are you still there?"

"Yes. Where are you?"

"Portugal. I just finished with a three hour book lecture. Your brother said it would not be wise to come back to England."

No, it would undoubtedly not be. Of course, Mycroft would know what's going on now. His eyes and ears would have told him everything by now. Sherlock's just surprised he hadn't heard from the man.

"Any reason why Sherlock? What did you do?" He hears her pause, then her next words are pure cold, and with steely intent. "Have you slipped? Is this why you are at Scotland Yard? Do you remember our last talk about this? Why am I asking that? You remember ninety nine percent of everything."

"No, no," Sherlock says quickly, quietly. He remembers what his mother said that day in the hospital, so soon after Lestrade's ultimatum. He stands up, moving away from a curious Donovan and closer to Lestrade's office. "I haven't, I promise. I promised I would never go back to it again."

He hears a sigh of relief. "Apologies, Sherlock. I know you haven't done so in a long time, but I cannot forget all those statistics. Even if you defy them."

"True. Relax, Mummy."

"I'm relaxing. Mycroft told me that it would be best I went to his place in Sweden. Did you know he has a home in Sweden?"

"He has homes in lots of places, Mummy," Sherlock says dryly.

"Yes," Mummy says dryly, her tone nearly matching his. "Yes, he does."

"I haven't seen him though. Maybe he put on a few pounds."

"Sherlock." A reprimand.

"Apologies."

"Accepted. Now, why are you at Scotland Yard? Is it another case?"

"Yes."

"Why am I being told not to come to England?"

Sherlock hesitates then.

"Sherlock," her voice is on the verge of demanding now. If he doesn't answer, it will be.

"It's too dangerous for you."

"But not dangerous for Mycroft?"

"He has his protection."

Silence at the other end. Minutes of it drag by slowly.

"I see. Sherlock..."

"Yes?"

"Be careful."

"Always, Mummy."

"I'll pretend to believe that little white lie," she drawls. "Is John there?"

"Not at the moment, no."

"Oh, pity," she sounds disappointed now. Sherlock smiles. Mummy took to John's presence in his life with ease. Something about her son now having a stabilizing influence. "I do believe I have his mobile number, so I think I'll give him a ring."

"Careful now Mummy. You'll make me think I've been replaced as your favourite."

She laughs. "Oh my brilliant son. A mother should never play favourites, although it is rather obvious I do. You cannot be replaced, Sherlock Holmes. You know that quite well yourself."

"I know."

"So smug."

"I have reason to be."

"Yes, you do, don't you? Well I'm off. You have things to do, and I have your doctor friend to ring up before I make plans for Sweden. Again my dear, be careful."

"I always am."

"White lie," she says, a hint of sadness in her words this time, and their call ends.

She always knew when he lied.

John was becoming adept at knowing it too. Sherlock was torn between annoyance and amusement at that fact.

His mobile rings again and this time he looks at the identification.

Sherlock scowls, then answers.

"Mycroft."

"Sherlock," he twitches as he hears his brother's smooth voice at the other end. "I was ringing to inform you that Mummy-"

"She already rang Mycroft. A bit on the slow side today? Your surveillence on my mobile not as quick as it normally is?"

"I see someone is in a mood."

"At least you did not tell her why she should not come back to England."

"I thought it would be best at the moment."

"Of course you did."

"I have not rung you to start a quarrell, Sherlock."

"Why have you rung me?"

"Because I thought you would like to know that Tilly Briggs has escaped an attempt on her life with the aid of some good samaritans."

Sherlock blinks. "Moran must be slipping then. This is the second time someone escaped."

"You are referring to Sergeant Caswell then? No, she is not slipping. The samaritans simply got wind of the impending attack and collected Ms Briggs minutes just as Ms Sébastienne Moran arrived. She responded by killing one of the samaritans, then setting fire to Ms Briggs home in frustration when the others escaped."

Sherlock did not know what to say. But he was not going to say thank you.

"I expect there will be some sort of reprisal."

"Is that why you informed Mother to go to Sweden?"

"I told her Sweden would be a good option yes, but I recall now I do not have a home in Sweden, so she will end up somewhere else."

Translation: No one will know where Mummy will go in case this phone call is being overheard.

"I must go now, we will talk again, Sherlock."

_Right._

They both end the call, and Sherlock turns to see John arriving, on his mobile. Talking to Mummy, no doubt. Donovan is still stubbornly at her desk.

When Sherlock takes his seat, John pauses during his conversation Mummy. While doing so, he sets down a cup of coffee, and a small paper plate with two biscuits on it in front of Sherlock.

"Eat," he orders sternly. No arguing with him about this. "What? Oh no, just telling your son to eat. He hasn't for a few days now... Oh, no not a meal. I know better than that." He holds up a hand to the both of them and walks a feet away.

Donovan glares as Sherlock decides he might as well eat them. Not because his transport is starting to demand food, but because John brought it to him to eat.

He notices Donovan glaring at him, again, when he finishes off one biscuit and takes a few sips from his coffee.

"Yes?"

"Someone gets you a cup like I just did, you won't have anything to do with it. He gets you a cup and a biscuit, nearly orders you to eat.. and you do?"

"I trust him not to poison my drink. Even with a so called truce."


	8. A Vow

**Title: Reichenbach Falls- A Different Take (Part 3 Of A Different Take Series/Universe)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Moriarty, Moran, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson with Mycroft Holmes appearance a couple times.**

**Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor (as much one can be with this story), Hurt/Comfort**

**Warnings: Death, Murder, Violence, Language, Threats to Violence  
><strong>

**Spoilers: Reichenbach Falls is the title of the third episode/season finale (or episode 6) of Season 2.**

**Summary: It's February. John and Sherlock have known each other for a year now, their friendship strong, the bond that is between them is understood by them, but not by everyone else. Moriarty's plans for the two of them have been coming to fruition since January. Everyone they know, have helped and are close to them (as close one can get to Sherlock that is) are in danger.**

**To Queen morgan la fay- In regards to Mummy, I plan on writing that case where John and Mother Holmes do meet. :) **

**To coconut dreamer- Thank you. I'm glad you're enjoying it.**

**Everyone else as well, thank you from commenting and reading. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

**A Vow**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Date: February 10th, 2011<strong>_

_**Time: 3:01 pm**_

_**Location: Aeroplane**_

_**They have almost touched down.**_

_**John stares straight ahead, trying to keep his mind off what is going to happen when the plane lands. When they disembark.**_

_**He debates if he should ring Harry when they get off the plane.**_

_**No. Not a good idea. It would only make it worse. **_

_**Same with ringing Sarah.**_

_**Best just not to think about them.**_

_**What should he think about then for the next few minutes then? **_

_**God knows. **_

_"This is an old friend of mine, John Watson."_

_**Mike Stamford's introduction pops back up in his head.**_

_**Then Sherlock's first words to him, after thanking him for letting him use his mobile to send a text.**_

_"Afghanistan or Iraq?"  
><em>_**  
>Three simple words.<strong>_

_"How do you feel about the violin?"_

_**At that time, he had no thoughts about it.**_

_**Now, if someone asked him, his answer would be;**_

_**"Depends. Is Sherlock in a good mood when he's playing it, or in a bad mood?"**_

* * *

><p><strong>Date: January 31st, 2011<strong>

**Time: 5 pm**

**Location: 221B Baker St**

* * *

><p>John braces himself for whatever may come over at the other end. He stays sitting on his bed, the sounds of Sherlock pacing down below, the only sign telling John that Sherlock is still here.<p>

He hears a ring three times.

"Watson," John hears his sister answer. Her voice isn't slurred. Good.

"It's me."

Silence for a minute.

"Is everything okay John?"

_No. No, it's not. But I can't tell you that._

John takes a deep breath. "Sort of. Just wanted to ring you."

"Lot of shite going down in London I see. Guess it's a good thing I stayed in Birmingham instead of visiting."

_Yes, undoubtedly a good thing. Stay there. Please, just stay there Harry._

"What's wrong John?"

"Nothing," he clears his throat. "Nothing. As I said, just wanted to ring you."

"Right." She sounds suspicious. He doesn't blame her. It's usually her ringing him. He only answers when he's tired of avoiding her calls.

"His Royal Highness causing you any problems?"

"No. What are you doing right now?"

"Getting ready for a date."

John raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah," now she sounds nervous. "She's picking me up in an hour."

"Have fun."

"I'm going to try."

"I should let you go then."

"All right. Call me tomorrow if you want. I still want to come by, visit again. Maybe it'll go over better than the last time."

"Right. Sure."

"Tell His Highness I said hello," she says with a trace of glee, then hangs up the line.

John exhales. He should have told her something. But he took a risk ringing her, so he couldn't tell her what he wanted.

Now he's about to take another risk.

Ringing up Sarah.

He goes through his contacts, presses Sarah's name.

Hits dial.

It rings about five times before she picks up.

"Hello?"

"It's me, Sarah. Busy?"

"John," she says warmly. He can see that lovely smile of hers. He can also hear the background noise of the surgery. "A little busy, yeah. A lot of colds and such spreading. I have a couple minutes though."

"Need me to come down, help out a bit?"

"No, we're covered. Besides, I think you and Sherlock are quite busy."

"What do you mean?"

"I watch the news, John," she says in her 'duh' voice.

John chuckles, although there's not much in him to do so. "Right."

"Listen, perhaps when that is done with, the two of us get together for a dinner? I would say three, but I know Sherlock doesn't eat much."

"I can get him to be social for a couple of hours."

"You're probably the only one." John hears her name being called in the background. "I'm sorry John, I have to go. Dinner, all right? Ring me later and we'll set it up."

"Sure."

John listens to the dial tone and ends the connection.

* * *

><p><strong>Five Hours Later<strong>

* * *

><p>"You should go to bed."<p>

John doesn't move from his chair.

"John."

"I heard you Sherlock."

"You look exhausted."

John doesn't look away from the telly, even though he's not quite paying attention to what is on right now. He's simply trying to distract himself while they waited for another phone call from Moran, Moriarty, or Lestrade with news of another death.

So far, nothing.

John didn't know whether the silence was good or bad. No news of people dying, that was a good thing. The bad thing is because Moriarty and Moran have something planned out, and are just biding their time right now.

It's the calm before the storm. One of the few that keep popping up. It's quite familiar.

"I could never sleep during times like this," John states then, the urge to talk, just a little, about some of his time spent in Afghanistan.

He notices Sherlock stops moving. Seconds later, the lanky younger man sits down in the chair opposite him, speculating pale blue eyes seeing into him like they usually do.

"Like this?"

"The calms before the storms. After the first few months in Afghanistan, I would get a gut feeling when all hell would break loose, and the field hospital would be busy for days on end." John turns off the telly. "I excelled in that, during the chaos when the injured were brought in. Even when I was part of a MERT. It was the calms in between I couldn't stand."

"Because you knew they wouldn't last long," Sherlock comments.

"Nice deduction." No sarcasm.

"Also because you knew that in between the calms the enemy was plotting something bigger. Thus, more of your countrymen would be injured when their plots came to pass. If no one became injured or wound up sick, you would not have much to do. Boredom would set in."

John nods.

"Then when there were injuries or sickness, you were busy, the boredom would no longer there. "

Put like that, it's almost shameful. It puts into light what Sherlock does. The criminals keep Sherlock busy, challenged most of the time. When they weren't committing crimes, boredom would set in for Sherlock, once the rest of his distractions no longer worked.

"I was useful, needed. Like the other doctors, nurses, medics..."

"Double edged sword," Sherlock murmurs.

"Yes. Each side threatening to bury you with guilt," John admits. "Mycroft was right. I do miss it.. not as much now, but there are still times when I do."

"One should not feel guilty for wanting to do the job they excell in. You became a doctor, then an army doctor, to help those on the battlefield. You were trained to do just that, to treat battlefield injuries, Doctor Watson," John finds himself smiling at the emphasis Sherlock puts on his title. "Never feel guilty for that."

"Do you ever feel guilt, Sherlock?"

Those pale blue eyes, almost preternatural sometimes, lock with his.

"If I do, I ensure myself I have no reason to. There is no place to feel guilt, when the criminal classes out there are determined to do the worst to the innocents of society."

"Is it easy to do sometimes? To ensure that you should not feel guilty?" John waits for Sherlock to say yes. John knows that himself, Sherlock should not feel guilt, yet others want him to. It is not this man's fault that he excels so well in trapping the criminal.

He wonders if Sherlock will try to lie, but he's gotten good at catching Sherlock's lies. Sherlock knows it too.

"Some days are easier than others. Same with the nights," Sherlock says in a whisper. John hears the honesty in the words.

Honesty that only John would get.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 3rd, 2011<strong>

**Time: 7 am**

**Location: 221B Baker Street**

* * *

><p>John was up because he couldn't bloody sleep.<p>

Sherlock's violin was not to blame for it, nor was a late night.

He just couldn't sleep. Not with everything going on.

He had a feeling until this thing with Moriarty ended, he wouldn't have a decent night's sleep for a while.

So far, Moriarty hadn't even made any sort of reaching out gesture. Only person that's been visible was Moran.

And the person following Molly Hooper.

She wasn't being paranoid. She was being followed.

Either by one of Moriarty's people, or one of Mycroft's people. No one Sherlock knew.

He truly hoped it was one of Mycroft's.

It's been quiet since the end of January. Three days into February now, and nothing.

No one died.

No one had to escape any attempts.

It could be possible that Moran was sulking.

She did not succeed with Tilly Briggs... perhaps she was determined to kill her now, so was concentrating on finding her.

Mycroft would make sure she could not be found. Since no word has reached them on her death the past couple days, then she is most likely quite secure.

John stares at the tea kettle, urging to finish making the bloody tea.

Sherlock was currently downstairs with Mrs Hudson, occupied by.. something.

"Oh hurry up," John mutters blearily.

Instead of the tea kettle finishing as a response, his mobile rings.

John picks it up. A blocked number.

Fantastic. So a call from Moran is to start his day?

"Watson."

"Did I wake you Johnny boy?" Moran's voice purrs in his ear.

"Not really, no."

"Haven't been able to sleep? Poor John Watson. Have I brought you nightmares to go along with the ones from Afghanistan?"

"Out of the two of us, I think your nightmares would be far more worse," John says flatly, not caring to get into this.

She goes silent, and John feels a pang of guilt. Her time as a prisoner of war clearly did nothing for her mental facilities. Despite who she is, no one should be remembered of that.

"Have you worked on any prisoners of war, Doctor?"

"No."

"I tracked down the doctor that worked on me. He saved my life." She pauses. "I took his."

"Why?"

"I wanted to die. He made sure I lived."

John did not want to think about what Moran may have went through as POW. He knows it most likely a lot worse than what a man would have. She survived it though.

Look how she came back though. Working for a psychopath, willing to take lives of innocents, including children.

"You're judging me, John Watson. Again."

John sighs. "What do you want?"

"It appears I won't be the one to kill you, John," she says in a mournful tone. "I'll just be the one that makes sure it happens."

"So who is it going to be then?"

"Who do you think?"

John stills. "Moriarty doesn't like getting his hands dirty."

"But for you, he will," she promises in a low tone. "He wants Sherlock to witness your death at his hands, and to be unable to do anything about it. He did say he would burn his heart."

John swallows. He remembers. The viciousness of the statement.

"I remember when he was fretting over your inclusion in Sherlock's life. He wasn't sure what to make of you. Then he found out you were the one that shot Jefferson Hope and he became quite curious. He was worried for a minute that you'd ruin Sherlock for him. In a way I think you have, but it makes this so much more fun for him."

"How have I ruined Sherlock?"

"By being his moral compass," she says softly. "You've found a way behind those walls of his, walls that my boss wasn't sure could be penetrated. Boss knows that Sherlock Holmes can be hurt now. With your death, Sherlock Holmes will be lost. He'll suffer. He'll go back to the cocaine."

John's heart nearly stops at that. He doesn't want to believe it.

"He will. He'll slowly start killing himself, then boss will come to finally put him out of his misery. Boss found a way to finally kill Sherlock Holmes, all thanks to you."

If she intended to make him feel aghast at those words, to make him feel guilty for being the conscience that Sherlock needs, then she chose the wrong fucking words.

Anger boils through John. He's no longer tired, no longer exhausted or weary.

He's fucking had enough of Moran and Moriarty thinking that he makes Sherlock weak, because he brings a conscience to Sherlock Holmes.

He's beyond angry that they would threaten to kill him, to use his death to hurt Sherlock.

It's fury what he's feeling right now.

"Johnny boy? Are you there? I'm sorry, did I make you feel bad about being the whole reason behind the great consulting detectives impending death?"

John sits up in his chair.

"I may have not been trained to kill as expertly as you," John says, hearing the dark tone in his voice but not caring, "but I'm going to promise you something, Sébastienne Moran. Think of it as a vow."

For once there's silence at the other end.

"What would that be?" He hears her ask, her own voice still calm and unruffled as it can be.

"I'm going to fucking kill you."


	9. Tick Tock Tick Tock

**Title: Reichenbach Falls- A Different Take (Part 3 Of A Different Take Series/Universe)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Moriarty, Moran, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson with Mycroft Holmes appearance a couple times.**

**Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor (as much one can be with this story), Hurt/Comfort**

**Warnings: Death, Murder, Violence, Language, Threats**

**Spoilers: Reichenbach Falls is the title of the third episode/season finale (or episode 6) of Season 2.**

**Summary: It's February. John and Sherlock have known each other for a year now, their friendship strong, the bond that is between them is understood by them, but not by everyone else. Moriarty's plans for the two of them have been coming to fruition since January. Everyone they know, have helped and are close to them (as close one can get to Sherlock that is) are in danger.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: <strong>

**Tick Tock...Tick Tock**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Date: February 10th, 2011<strong>_

_**Time: 3:05 pm**_

_**Location: Aeroplane**_

_**Sherlock ignores the jolt that comes when a plane lands on a tarmac. **_

_**The usual instructions come over the intercom. **_

_**He ignores them. **_

_**He hears John's intake of breath, and remembers John did the same thing during take off.**_

_**It's not motion sickness, air sickness, nerves, fear of take off or fear of landing. **_

_**Just a quirk of his it seems. **_

_**"Shouldn't be much longer," John says quietly.**_

_**No. Just a few more minutes and they can depart from the plane, walk through the airport and quickly catch a taxi that will hopefully be there. **_

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 7th, 2011<strong>

**Location: The Rooftop Of A Building**

**Time: Just at 3 pm.**

* * *

><p>Sébastienne Moran kneels down on the hard tiles of the roof, setting her case down in front of her. She opens it, then withdraws her scope first.<p>

Using it, she scans the location across the street with it. Some parts have too many objects in the way. Trees mainly. She'll need the target to come out the front doors.

It took a little bit more planning to work this out. While she worked on this excellent set up, she took care of two others. Loose ends during that bombing game he played with Holmes.

Plus, Boss wanted a lovely seat for this one.

She knows he's here somewhere. Just not sure where.

Moran smiles then, as she recognizes two police cars pull up and park. Moments later, so does a taxi. The recognizable figures of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes get out of the taxi. Much to her delight, Detective Inspector Lestrade, Sergeant Sally Donovan and a few other Yarders get out.

Her mobile rings then.

Setting her scope down, Moran picks up it up.

"Yes, Boss?"

"When you are done here, take a trip to the surgery. Then go on to Birmingham. Take care of both of them there."

"Right. What about the mother and brother?"

"Too well protected," Boss says with irritation. "No idea where the mother is. We'll have to make do without them. Same with Tilly Briggs, which is annoying. Once the ex girlfriend, sister and the former sister in law are taken care of, we move on."

Anticipation brings a grin on. "John Watson?"

Boss laughs. "You will get your turn with him before I finish it.

_"I may have not been trained to kill as expertly as you," John Watson's voice comes across the line, col and hard, "but I'm going to promise you something, Sébastienne Moran. Think of it as a vow."_

He had surprised her there. She was enjoying his defeated voice. It took her a minute to regain her bearings.

_"I'm going to fucking kill you."_

She believed him. His words were dark and full of intent.

Thing is, he won't be able to fulfill that vow. Not if she has her way. She will too.

"Have fun my dear. Also, if I did not say it, excellent work with Deborah Moore, and Nicholas Gadd."

The call ends. She sets her phone down and sets about putting together her rifle.

In thirty minutes, she will make her call.

Five minutes after that, she will take out this latest target.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 7th, 2011<strong>

**Location: St Barts**

**Time: 3:09 pm**

* * *

><p>"He hasn't made anymore deliveries?"<p>

"No," Molly responds, pulling at her coat. Sherlock notices that while tense, she's still trying to maintain a demeanor of being together.

"Has he rung you?" Lestrade asks sharply.

Molly bites her lip. "Possibly. I don't know. I've had a few calls late at night, but when I answer it's a hang up. It doesn't seem like him though. Jim would say something. Taunt me perhaps. Maybe he's decided I'm not worth the trouble anymore."

She sounds so hopeful to Sherlock's ears.

Two more people died in the last two days.

Deborah Moore, the woman that was the first victim of the five pips game. The first puzzle that he had to solve. He saved her life. Now she's dead.

Nicholas Gadd. The second victim of the game. He solved that puzzle too, saving his life.

Now he is dead.

So far the only two others that were part of the game, and are still alive is the young boy during the fourth pip and John.

Unfortunately, Molly is still being followed.

By whom, and who's orders, that is the problem and question. John said that whoever it is, the watcher does not seem to enter any building Molly goes in, but remains hovering outside.

"We are sorry to bother you Doctor Hooper, we're just-"

"I know what you're doing. I've been watching the news. Scotland Yard is taking a lot of heat with all these murders."

An unbelievable amount of heat. Lestrade's been quite ill tempered from all the press conferences and meetings with his superiors that past few days. Then again Sherlock can understand.

Several murders, all in the same modus operandi, spread out over the past few weeks. From the States (A decidedly overzealous reporter had found that information out, linking it to these) to the Mainland back to London.

Luckily nothing about Moran, Moriarty, Sherlock or John has been leaked to the media. The less known is best right now, despite what the public wants.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade, I know you have more questions. Right now, I am quite eager to have a cup of coffee. Criterion coffee," Molly stresses. Sherlock smiles, not many here are quite fond of the cafeteria coffee. "Let me have some java first, get something to eat, and then I'll answer the rest of your questions, even though I answered them already."

Lestrade blinks, surprised by the forcefulness in Molly. Sherlock approves of it.

The DI nods. Molly exhales, then takes off her coat and slips out of the morgue.

"Donovan, go with her, please. Take someone else too."

"Yes, sir," Donovan turns around, and waves a hand to one of the other Sergeants. They leave to go catch up with Molly.

'The last press conference rougher than usual?"

"Unbelievably so," Lestrade rubs his face. "Right now it feels as if I have no arse left, with the amount of chewing out I got from my superiors and those bloody reporters. That one keen reporter found out the connection of Deborah Moore and Nicholas Gadd to that five pips thing. What's surprising is she hasn't put that out there yet."

"Perhaps someone has convinced her not to."

"If it's your brother Sherlock, I'm grateful." Lestrade pauses in the act of rubbing his neck. "Speaking of your brother-"

"He is safe. Far too much protection, and excellent protection I might add. Mummy happens to be taking an unscheduled holiday in the Mainland right now," Sherlock interrupts and decides to leave the morgue. No bodies in, but he doesn't feel like staying in there.

"I swear it's still strange hearing the word Mummy come from his mouth," he hears Lestrade mutter to John.

He doesn't hear John's response as his mobile rings. A quick check and the number, unsurprisingly, is blocked.

Moran.

Or Moriarty.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"How are you dear Sherlock?"

Moriarty.

"Just swell, thank you. You?"

"A little cold. English winters can be quite chilly, especially during February, as you well know."

"I see. What do I owe the honor for you ringing me?" Sherlock drawls.

"Well, it's been so long since we last chatted. I can't let my guard dog do all the talking. Although, she does do it quite well, does she not? Your pet took her by surprise a few mornings back."

"John Watson is not a pet," Sherlock's jaw clenches, but he's able to keep his voice calm.

"That's right. Friend, colleague, flatmate. Or flatmate, friend, and colleague. Whichever order you prefer."

"They are concepts you do not understand."

"Well you did not seem to understand the concept of backing off," Moriarty snarls, reminding Sherlock of the back and forth personality during the pool stand off. "I gave you two warnings, my dear. Two. Look where it got you. Close to two dozen people, ones who knew you and helped you, dead. Their blood is on your hands, dear Sherlock."

That damned guilt threatens to breach the wall. Sherlock batters it back.

"No."

"No?" His tone is curious now.

"No, their blood is not on my hands. I'm not the one that killed him. Your assassin did. Moran took their lives, not me. You won't force me to feel something unwarranted to the situation, Jim Moriarty."

"Well, you already feel so much, Sherlock. Ever since Doctor John Watson, formerly a Captial of the Royal Army Medical Corps, entered your life." His voice turns from warm to cold with the next few words. "I'm going to have my pet kill his family, and that lovely Sarah Sawyer too once we finish here," he hisses. "I am going to make you suffer my dear. Every moment. I will make you watch, bounded and gagged, unable to do anything but watch as I end John Watson's life. I will let you live afterwards, if only because I doubt you'll have much will left for it. When your life ends, either by your hand or mine, I'll be there."

Sherlock's hand grips the mobile, passion gripping the inside of him, a passion he normally only lets himself feel when he's in a middle of a case. Determination rips through him, a strange focus that he had not felt before takes hold.

"Neither you, nor Moran will be able to end John Watson's life, nor mine," he says coldly.

"Oh? Tell me why?"

"Because the both of us will end you," he promises, the weight of each word bearing down on him and he feels it gladly. "Before that happens. I will personally end you if you even dare to go after John's family, or John. Enough is enough, Jim Moriarty," he sneers the name, "You hide behind your shadows, your assassin, your games. This is not a matter of you not wanting to get your hands dirty. They already are. You're just a coward."

Before Moriarty can respond, Sherlock ends the call and pockets his mobile. He turns to see John standing behind him.

The strange focus and the passion he usually feels for cases recedes slowly.

"Yes?"

"You called him a coward."

"I believe I did."

John smirks. "I told Moran I'd kill her the other day."

"I think both of us have had enough."

"Oh, quite."

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 7th, 2011<strong>

**Location: Outside St Barts**

**Time: 3:20 pm**

* * *

><p>Moriarty stares furiously at his mobile. Rage builds to the point where he can hardly think.<p>

How dare he?

How DARE he?

Oh things have just changed. They have most certainly goddamn changed.

To hell with the original plan. To hell with the rest of them! Time to make a change, he's quite capable of adapting and making changes.

i"Sorry boys! I'm soooo changeable! It is a weakness with me. But to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness."/i

He dials a number.

"Moran."

"Change in plans," he snarls.

Silence. "Boss?" He scowls at her nervous tone.

"I SAID CHANGE IN PLANS!"

"Right. What's the change?"

"When you take out the primary, take out John Watson first, then put two bullets in Sherlock Holmes head."

"Really?"

He grins at her eagerness. "Just so." He ends the call, the anger now draining from him. He leans against the wall, feeling much better now.

Moriarty turns his attention back across the street, to the sight in front of him.

Time to make another call.

He shakes off his anger towards Sherlock (Because Sherlock will now properly pay for that remark) and then dials the number.

"Hello?"

Ah, there is that sweet, hesitant, voice.

"Hello my dear Doctor Molly Hooper," he croons. He hears her intake of breath and smiles. "I thought I'd call. After all, I left you in such a lurch the last time we talked."

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 7th, 2011<strong>

**Location: Inside St Barts**

**Time: 3:30 pm**

* * *

><p>"Hold that thought Sherlock," Lestrade tells him as he answers his ringing mobile. They stop halfway to their destination.<p>

Sherlock scowls at being cut off, finding it quite annoying.

He turns in a huff, only to be nudged by John. He sees John gesturing back to Lestrade, and Sherlock turns back around to see Lestrade paling a bit.

He holds his phone out and presses a button. Speaker.

"Hello boys," Moran's voice greets them.

"Moran," they say at the same time, this time in a bored manner.

"I spy with my special little eye," she croons, "a certain beauty that can be quite shy."

Sherlock's boredom fades instantly. She's pointing to a target.

Sarah Sawyer perhaps? Harry Watson? Wait no, Harry Watson is certainly not shy.

Molly.

"Tell you what boys, I have a challenge for you. To see if you can save your beauty before my special eye helps stop her heart."

Sherlock stills.

"I will give you one hundred and twenty seconds. Two minutes to get where you are to where the beauty is. I don't think you are quite far and you can run quite fast the both of you."

Two minutes. From where they are that's about fifty feet, then three hallways, about ten steps up to the main lobby, and to the outside. Molly would most likely be returning to have her lunch, so she'd be halfway to the door.

If she's halfway to the entrance, the both of them can make it.

"So if my calculations are correct, then you have your two minutes to race towards Doctor Molly Hooper and save her life. Detective Inspector Lestrade, do not hang up your mobile to ring your Sergeant, you'll need help to keep track of the time. So boys, the time starts.. now. One.. two... tick tock.. tick tock..."

Sherlock does not hesitate.

He and John run.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Nicholas Gadd and Deborah Moore were the actors names of the first two victims of being in those bomb vests for that Five Pips thing. They had no names given for their characters, so I went with their actual names.<strong>


	10. It Will Never End

**Title: Reichenbach Falls- A Different Take (Part 3 Of A Different Take Series/Universe)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Moriarty, Moran, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson with Mycroft Holmes appearance a couple times.**

**Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor (as much one can be with this story), Hurt/Comfort**

**Warnings: Death, Murder, Violence, Language**

**Spoilers: Reichenbach Falls is the title of the third episode/season finale (or episode 6) of Season 2.**

**Summary: It's February. John and Sherlock have known each other for a year now, their friendship strong, the bond that is between them is understood by them, but not by everyone else. Moriarty's plans for the two of them have been coming to fruition since January. Everyone they know, have helped and are close to them (as close one can get to Sherlock that is) are in danger.**

**Author's Note: Once again my less than fantastic ability to write in the moment present day action scenes rears it's ugly head. I tried several times to write out what I was seeing in my head but I could not translate the scenes in my head to the written/typed word. So I simply wrote up to the point where I could, and then flashed ahead. All us writers have our unfortunate weaknesses. Mine is action sequences. Apologies to those who were hoping for an action sequence.**

**To**_ Queen morgan la fay_** : The one shot I had of Harry and Sherlock meeting is not in the same universe as my A Different Take series. All my one shots are not quite connected to the ADT series. (Except maybe The Warehouse Chat) At the time of writing that one, I had not yet established how Sherlock and Harry met in my ADT series.  
><strong>

**To **_Casey_**: Sarah and John's break up will be addressed soon. When I expand my series and do the cases that are inbetween these, it will also be a little more fleshed out. No, in my universe, they will not get back together. I'm sorry.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

**It Will Never End**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Date: February 10th, 2011<strong>_

_**Time: 3:19 pm**_

_**Location: Aeroplane**_

_**John stands up, now that they are allowed to do so. At last. He and Sherlock end up letting the other few people in the front get their carry-ons.**_

_**"Thank you for flying Swiss Air gentlemen," one of the flight attendants say with cheer as they pass her.**_

_**As they join the other passengers in departing, John gets the sense that Sherlock wants to ask him something. It's helped by the occasional side eye look. Sherlock has his own tells, it just takes living with him for a year for people to know them.**_

_**"Okay, you got questions."**_

_**Sherlock raises an eyebrow and John realizes Sherlock said the same thing to him the night they were in that taxi heading to Lauriston Gardens.**_

_**"Just one."**_

_**"Yeah?"**_

_**"Do you ever at times wish you never met me?"**_

_**John cocks his head to the side, stopping to let a few people behind them pass. He tugs Sherlock out of the way.**_

_**"Thinking about all the people that said they have?"**_

_**Sherlock shakes his head, his eyes not betraying anything that might be going on in that head of his.**_

_**"Only when you play the violin rather horribly at three in the morning. Other than that.. I am very glad that Stamford introduced me to you," John says honestly. "What about you? Do you ever regret meeting me?"**_

_**He thinks Sherlock does at times. He nags the consulting detective to eat, drink, to pay attention to societal norms, to try and watch what he says, he plays the role of moral compass and conscience to him. He constantly tries to steer Sherlock towards the path he was meant to be on. For someone like Sherlock, who's stubborn streak is miles long and has his own way of doing things, John imagines that he might.**_

_**"No.**_"

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 7th, 2011<strong>

**Location: Inside St Barts**

**Time: 3:34 pm**

* * *

><p>"Don't you dare alert your people," Lestrade hears Moran's voice hiss, breaking her count. He was just about to yell at the others when she said that. "Or I will shoot early, I have her perfectly in my sights, same with your Sergeant Donovan. Are we clear?"<p>

"Crystal," he grits out, and the assassin chuckles before resuming her count.

"Eighty two... eighty three..."

Lestrade feels the sweat coming down his temples, his heart beating. One of his Sergeants appear next to him, and Lestrade holds up a finger.

Warn Donovan! He mouths and makes a gesture for him to run on ahead.

"Eighty nine... ninety... ninety one... ninety two... Do you think they'll make it Lestrade?"

"I hope to God they do."

"That'll make things easier then."

Lestrade realizes then why she issued that challenge. She wants them outside.

Shite.

"One hundred and six...one hundred and seven... one hundred and eight..."

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 7th, 2011<strong>

**Location: Outside St Barts**

**Time: Almost 3:35**

* * *

><p>John doesn't apologize this time to the person Sherlock had pushed out of the way, he'll do it later. They get the to the doors this time and burst outside.<p>

Just twenty feet away they see Molly, back to them. Donovan now speaking on her walkie.

They're both in danger.

Not saying anything both men race forward.

"Donovan!"

They race the last twenty feet, John's heart beating as hard as it once did when he was in battle zones.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 7th, 2011<strong>

**Location: Inside St Barts**

**Time: 3:35 pm**

* * *

><p>Lestrade hears Donovan shout out the radio code for sniper on his walkie.<p>

Curses in French and English spew out on his cell Lestrade ends the call, pockets his mobile, and starts running.

There's no doubt at all right now that the assassin was not going to leave without killing someone. Her cursing appears to be because Donovan was told in time, or Sherlock and John Watson got to them in time.

Maybe both.

As he enters the lobby, it's chaos as people are running inside.

The hell of it all is that he can't go outside, not with a furious sniper taking shots.

This is one of the few moments in his life that he wishes he was authorized to carry firearms. Especially with his people out there.

More people come rushing inside, and somehow among the yelling and chaos, Lestrade hears the voices of Sherlock, John Watson, and Donovan.

Hell with it.

He's going outside.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 7th, 2011<strong>

**Location: Royal London Hospital**

**Time: Sometime before 7 pm**

* * *

><p>"You got some luck on your side, young man," a doctor tells Sherlock as he sits still.<p>

"Luck had nothing to do with it," he says coldly.

"I think it does. Snipers don't miss," the doctor says firmly as he cleans the two graze marks. Shots from Moran that missed. Not by a bloody lot, but missed nonetheless. "You and your friend, Doctor Watson most assuredly had some luck on your side then.

Sherlock does not respond, simply waits for the doctor to finish tending to his arm. After a bandage on both are set, Sherlock is thankfully able to leave the room.

He goes out into the main waiting room, where several others are, and sits.

His mind does not stop from going over what happened earlier.

Three Yarders injured, their wounds currently being treated. Sgt Sally Donovan was, as far as he knew, still getting some nasty gashes taken care of. She did not get shot, but her arm and leg ended up wounded from shrapnel caused by bullets missing.

John and Lestrade both wound up getting grazed.

Two Sergeants were killed, unable to get properly back inside when the shots were going off.

Three civilians killed.

Molly Hooper ended up getting shot in the stomach.

Better than the heart and head.

She's alive, and currently being tended to.

All hell broke loose after that. Moran was obviously pissed that Lestrade was able to get word to Donovan (Lestrade told them later), plus that he and John got to the two of them.

She certainly tried her best to take them out. Sherlock lost count after nine shots.

John mentioned later that the only reason she missed after they prevented Molly's death was that Moran lost focus, and most likely became so enraged that she was not able to take proper shots after that.

"Sherlock."

Sherlock's attention moves away from what had taken place outside St Barts to see his brother, Mycroft standing in front of him. His assistant, the one that John calls Anthea, also standing just two feet away.

Her attention, like always, is on her blackberry.

"How long have you been here?"

"Just a few minutes now."

Sherlock nods.

"John?"

"He's fine. I'm sure your surveillance told you that."

He notices a tightening in Mycroft's jaw.

"You?"

"Why ask questions when you already know the answer?"

"I see that physically you are fine."

"My mental capabilities are still in tact, brother," Sherlock snaps, then notices John and Lestrade coming into the waiting room. He stands and strides towards them.

He ignores the presence of his brother.

"You all right?" Sherlock asks John. He can see it for himself, he just wants clarification from his colleague, his friend.

John nods. "My arm was grazed, thankfully. Same as you. Lestrade too."

"The press is all over this," Lestrade groans. "While I had my leg and arm tended to, I got a call from my DCI and just about everyone else. They're clamoring for answers."

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 7th, 2011<strong>

**Location: Undisclosed Location**

**Time: Same Time**

* * *

><p>Moriarty stares at the wall in front of him as his people are packing things up as if the Devil is on their heels. It's been non stop activity since he and Moran arrived.<p>

She stopped shooting the moment more police arrived, this time the ones that have authorization to carry firearms. The two of them were quickly met by a car in the parking garage.

Right now he hears the sounds of vehicles being packed up, Moran barking orders, people running to and from. Vehicles driving off.

They don't have time to go after Harry Watson or the others.

Not after that spectacular failure.

Their plans are stalled, no longer viable. The others will most likely have protection units on them.

He turns away from the wall to stare at Moran. Two people lying dead next to her. She shot both of them earlier when they weren't moving fast enough.

His pet failed.

She knows it. It explains her foul attitude. Which is why all those currently hustling at the moment know they are target practice with her pistol if they don't react the way she wants them to.

He's disappointed.

Very disappointed.

He's tempted to kill her. To take that pistol in her hands and shoot her right in the temple. She'd let him do it too. Her loyalty is that absolute.

She's far too useful for him to kill having always been his best. Even with her screw ups, Moran is still his best.

She'll make it up to him.

Always does.

Moriarty walks over to his desk and picks up his mobile. Time to make another call.

"Five minutes, Boss," he hears her call out. "What did I tell you idiots? Get moving, stop slagging off! Try not to break anything dammit!" He hears switch to French as she curses someone else out.

A protest.

Then the sound of a gun going off, followed by that distinctive sound a body makes when they fall to the ground.

"I know."

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 7th, 2011<strong>

**Location: Royal London Hospital**

**Time: Just a few minutes later**

* * *

><p>"A press conference is being set up within the hour," Lestrade announces, looking quite ill at ease. Sherlock knows the man never likes them. "I have to get over there. First, I have to figure out what to bloody say."<p>

One idea clearly forms. A way to head off Moriarty. "Tell them the truth."

John and Lestrade stare at him. "Pardon?"

"That a master criminal and his assassin was behind all of it. That they have been behind the deaths that have taken place the last few weeks. Give the press the physical descriptions of Moriarty and Moran. Their faces will be all over the news. Moriarty will have to go deeper to ground."

"That's..."

"A good idea," Mycroft irritatingly speaks up then. Lestrade notices Mycroft then. Unlike the last time these two were in the same room together, no questions are immediately asked. "My assistant can do better than that though. We can ensure you can have photographs to give to the press."

Lestrade looks relieved. "Well that will be a big help."

"Meanwhile, you can be escorted to your press conference," Mycroft adds.

While also be instructed on what to say and how to say it.

As Mycroft's assistant places her call to get the required photos, a ring echoes from his coat pocket. Sherlock takes his mobile out. Another blocked number.

Deciding to take it, just to see what Moriarty plans on saying now, he walks away, going back to where the majority of the seats are. He once more ignores his brother and his assistant who is now placing a call for a car.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"You may have won this battle, Sherlock Holmes, but the war is not over."

"I didn't think it was," Sherlock responds coolly, hearing background noise of shouts, things being moved about, engines of automobiles. "Retreating are you?"

"Even the best have to do so now and then. Gives me time to plan," Moriarty replies, his voice sounding thoughtful. "You intentionally called me a coward to anger me. To deviate from my schedule. You knew I would tell Moran to target the both of you."

Sherlock smiles. He wouldn't let himself think that earlier.

"You may have survived and won, Sherlock, but I will be back. Every battle we fight, whoever retreats it will not matter. I will always be back."

Sherlock's smile fades as he turns around, watching the bustle before him. His eyes on John. Watching John as he debates with Lestrade.

"I will never stop. I will continue to be the one that haunts your dreams. I will return, I promise you that. I'll kill everyone you know. I will burn your world down around you and John Watson. I'll kill them all," he hears Moriarty promise. "Including dear Mrs Hudson. I'll track down Detective Inspector Lestrade's parents and his sister, I'll kill Sgt Donovan's mother and her sister. I'll find a way to get to your mother and your brother. I'll kill John. No one is safe. You will burn, utterly burn as I take everything away from you."

Sherlock stays silent. Logically, it makes sense. He had issued the same threat earlier before Moran delivered her challenge.

"This will never end. This war between you and I. Many will suffer, London will burn and you will lose. Everything. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."


	11. An Invitation To Reichenbach Falls

**Title: Reichenbach Falls- A Different Take (Part 3 Of A Different Take Series/Universe)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Moriarty, Moran, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson with Mycroft Holmes appearance a couple times.**

**Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor (as much one can be with this story), Hurt/Comfort**

**Warnings: Death, Murder, Violence, Language**

**Spoilers: Reichenbach Falls is the title of the third episode/season finale (or episode 6) of Season 2.**

**Summary: It's February. John and Sherlock have known each other for a year now, their friendship strong, the bond that is between them is understood by them, but not by everyone else. Moriarty's plans for the two of them have been coming to fruition since January. Everyone they know, have helped and are close to them (as close one can get to Sherlock that is) are in danger.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

**An Invitation To Reichenbach Falls**

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 8th, 2011<strong>

**Location: 221B Baker Street**

**Time: Late Morning**

* * *

><p>Sherlock opens his violin case, takes out his bow to clean as Mycroft turns off the telly. John sinks in his seat, the tension just leaking out like the air in a balloon does.<p>

His arm that was grazed aches a little, and he feels a twinge in his other shoulder. The phantom pain in his leg threatens to spread. He closes his eyes and with as much willpower he can muster, the aches and phantom pain eases.

No sign of Moriarty or Moran in England. For now the danger has passed. For now, that is.

"The last reported sighting of the two of them was in France just as the press released their photographs," Mycroft announces, standing where he is, bloody umbrella in his hands. Anthea is just two feet behind him, focus on her blackberry.

John wonders what exactly is on there that keeps her so engrossed. The attraction he felt earlier towards threatens to flare up again, but remembering how she so easily brushed him off, dampens it once more.

"I doubt we have seen the last of them," Mycroft continues. "There have been more reports of other members of his organization. Some have disappeared from the radar of the authorities in other countries. This blow seems to have raised some awareness in them."

"They've gone deep underground to reorganize," Sherlock says from his spot on the sofa.

"A likely thought. You have had no other communications for Moriarty since he rang you at the hospital?"

What? John looks over at Sherlock, who is now glaring at his brother.

"No," he says shortly.

"Sir, we need to go."

"Yes of course my dear. John, Sherlock we will talk later." Mycroft nods to them both, then leaves followed by his assistant.

"He called you?"

"Yes."

"To deliver more threats?"

"Of course."

"Sherlock-"

"Excuse me John," Sherlock sets his bow on the coffee table next to his open violin case. "I just remembered something I need to say to Mycroft. I will be right back," he adds taking his coat and scarf off the hooks.

John doesn't try to stop him, or finish his question.

But he does wonder what it is Sherlock wishes to say to Mycroft that is urgent enough to make him go after his older brother. When he usually cannot wait for Mycroft to leave.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 8th, 2011<strong>

**Location: Outside 221B Baker Street**

**Time: A few minutes later**

* * *

><p>Mycroft stares at his brother, his reckless brother that makes him worry constantly.<p>

"Stop staring, Mycroft. Can you do it?"

"I am simply surprised you would come to me about this, little brother."

Sherlock scowls. "There is no one else to go to."

"What about-"

"No."

The worry in Mycroft beats like a drum in his head and heart. What Sherlock is asking for is something no brother should be asked, and brings up a certain memory.

_"You took it upon yourself to protect Sherlock," his mother says in a low tone rife with disappointment. "To help him, to make sure he succeeds, to ensure he's still alive by the age of fifty. "_

_Mycroft never quite understands why Mummy picks that age whenever they have these talks. Does she think Sherlock might slow down by then? Or hope at least?_

_His mother looks away from it to the hospital bed where Sherlock currently lies, after surviving the pool explosion._

_"You promised me, Mycroft, as well," Mummy continues, not looking at him. "Keep your promise. Whoever this Moriarty is.. if he is still alive as you think he is, then make damn sure Sherlock lives. We cannot lose him, nor can London. Whatever Sherlock asks of you, help him."_

"Mycroft?"

"Oh, yes, Sherlock. My mind wandered a bit, dangerous I know. Yes, I can do it."

"How fast?" His reckless, impatient, foolish, and a constant worry of a little brother asks.

"I will contact you when it is done." Mycroft nods to him, gets into his car, the door shutting as his assistant gets in.

As the car drives off, his assistant's attention goes from her blackberry to him.

"What about John Watson sir?"

"Do not worry about John Watson," Mycroft answers. "It will be taken care of."

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 9th, 2011<strong>

**Location: Royal London Hospital- Outside Molly's Room**

**Time: 1 pm**

* * *

><p>Sherlock sets his mobile back in his pocket, glaring at the nurse who walks away. She look satisfied that her harassment ended the call. He'll let her keep that delusion. It was short for a reason.<p>

Everything was ready. Mycroft does indeed work quickly. The only thing Sherlock likes about his brother.

Mycroft said everything will be at the flat, ready for him to pore over by the time he arrives. He would also let him know when the other part is in place.

The weight of the plan that Sherlock had started to formulate once Moriarty's call ended was starting to bear down on him.

It has to be done.

To save everyone.

It has to be done.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 9th, 2011<strong>

**Location: 221B Baker Street**

**Time: Half past 5 **

* * *

><p>John ends the call with his sister just as hears a knock on the door.<p>

Surprise forms when he opens the door to see Mycroft Holmes.

"Mycroft?"

Sherlock's brother smiles apologetically. "Apologies John. I thought Sherlock would be home by now."

"No, but it shouldn't be too much longer. Come in. Any reason for the visit, besides seeing Sherlock?"

"Just to drop off something for Sherlock. Do you have any tea on? I find myself in the mood for a spot of it."

John notices a manila packet in Mycroft's hands. "Oh yes, it just finished brewing. I can pour you a cuppa."

Mycroft sets the packet on the desk, taking off his coat, the places the hook of the umbrella on the inside doorknob.

"Oh I can do that," he says smoothly. "You've been on your feet a lot lately, take a rest."

This is odd...

John ends up sitting anyway. "Glasses are-"

"I know where they are, John," Mycroft says with that nearly condescending smile of his as he enters the kitchen.

Right, of course he does.

Suspicion crawls into John's mind.

Since when was Mycroft wrong about Sherlock being home or not?

Since when did Mycroft get his own tea?

Since when does Sherlock ever ask his brother for anything, unless it's a last resort? A truly last resort.

John looks at the manila packet, then back at Mycroft currently busy fixing his tea. Looks back at the manila packet.

It would be rude to look.

John reaches over anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 9th, 2011<strong>

**Location: 221B Baker Street**

**Time: Evening**

* * *

><p>Sherlock closes the door to 221B Baker Street and looks up the stairs to the flat. He leans against the door, visualizing how the next few hours will play out.<p>

Another phone call, this time from Mycroft's assistant, told him exactly what he needed to hear.

All he has to do now is get through these next few hours with John, and then when John goes to bed, he will begin.

Sherlock swallows as he forces himself to remain rational, logical. He cannot afford to be sentimental. He cannot afford to lose logic or rationality.

He slowly walks up the stairs to the flat, and enters.

Only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of a glowering Doctor John Watson.. and Mycroft.

Sherlock automatically scowls at the sight of his brother. But what he sees next displeases him even more.

On the table, next to John... is Sherlock's ticket. Passport. Other papers that were needed to carry this off.

_Damn you Mycroft._

"I did not know he would be here when I came by," Mycroft says as he stands up, as always looking his usual self. Oh and lying of course. He knew.

"I best be off, have a few matters to finish detailing," Mycroft says smoothly, he turns to John. "Good bye John."

John nods stiffly, and Sherlock stays standing, only glaring at Mycroft as leaves.

"Do not be angry, little brother. I did not have to say anything," he says softly.

The door shuts.

"Sherlock."

"It's the only way," Sherlock says flatly, shoring up the walls around him. John could be persuasive. He could not be persuaded out of this.

"Right," John says with a bitter laugh. "The only way huh? You sure about that? So what were you going to do tonight? Go on pretending, which you can do quite well, be gone in the morning? Then I would find out through the news on the telly?

"Sounds about right," Sherlock says coolly.

"You are a right bastard at times."

"Technically I am not. My parents were married at the time I was conceived and born."

"Nice counter. You are not doing... this.. It's mad!"

The walls that were once so strong with everyone else start to waver. How can one protest from this man do that? Only John can do it.

"There is no other choice," Sherlock counters sharply. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "If I don't do this, then more people will die. Not just my contacts, but your sister, Sarah, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, you!" Sherlock almost chokes at that, but he forces himself ahead.

Who knew feeling things would be so disastrous at times? That caring about someone would be so... dramatic? Frustrating. He should blame John. Has every right to.

_"This will never end. This war between you and I. Many will suffer, London will burn and you will lose. Everything. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes."_

"It will not end. Moriarty will never stop."

"I know that Sherlock," John says quietly as Sherlock starts to pace. "Sherlock, sit down. Just sit down."

"I can't."

"Fine, then... I understand why you want to do it. It's mad, insane... so many things could go wrong. But from your point of view, I can see it as the only option."

Sherlock pauses in his pacing. "You do?"

"I do."

"Then why are we arguing about this?"

"Because I'm not going to let you-"

"I'm going to John. I don't care what you're arguments are, I am going to-"

"By yourself."

Sherlock stops in the middle of his protest. He's stopped short by those two ordinary words coming from John.

"Pardon?"

"You are not doing this alone. I won't let you. You need someone there with you. I have to say you hide it all very well. Only the arrival of Mycroft made something seem off."

Mycroft did that deliberately, knowing John would sense something was not quite right.

"When he arrived, all sorts of questions started popping up. Then he went to go make his cuppa tea."

Well, talk about just giving it away.

"I got a look at that packet. A very good look. This plan of yours... you can't do it alone. Sherlock. I am going to be with you, every step of the way."

"What about Harry? Sarah?"

"Sarah and I have not been romantically seeing each other for over a month now. I thought you, the great Sherlock Holmes, would have realized that. We are just good friends and the occasional co-worker."

"Been a bit preoccupied," Sherlock murmurs.

"Right. Sarah will survive. Harry will too."

"John-"

"Spare me any counter arguments, protests. No. I am going to be by your side. Remember our chat when you tried to get me to move out after that mess with Irene Adler? Remember what I said?"

Sherlock remembers. Oh he remembers quite clearly.

_"What we have is more than friendship."_

_"This isn't something that can be easily severed," John continues, his voice quiet, but firm. "You can't delete this. What you and I have been through since meeting each other... this thing between us.. I've only ever seen it happen between soldiers in the battlefield. We have our own battlefield that we navigate through here in London, and now there's a far more deadly enemy out there waiting in the wings to strike. Sherlock, this is a battle you cannot go through alone. I won't let you walk through this battlefield alone. Whether you like it or not, I am going to walk with you. By your side. Where I belong." /i_

"This is just another new battlefield," John's words bring Sherlock out of his thoughts. "So, we are going to do this together. You will need someone by your side, even more so than now. We are more than just friends, or colleagues, or flatmates Sherlock. We are brothers. I will not, positively will not, let you do this on your own. "

Sherlock sees the determination, the will, the strength in John's eyes, in his body language.

He clears his throat, trying to get rid of the lump that has irritatingly formed.

"You consider me a brother?"

John snorts. "Yeah, right stupid I suppose, considering how you treat your sibling."

"He deserves it," Sherlock says absently, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the warmth that spreads through him with John's words.

_Brothers._

"I consider you a brother," Sherlock admits. "You fit the attitude of one, especially of an older brother. All your nagging about things. But as a brother, you are far less annoying than Mycroft... No wonder Mummy likes you."

John smiles.

He exhales, his mind racing, now trying to configure John's part in this. It does not take long.

"All right," Sherlock concedes after two minutes of thinking.

"Good. Don't try to be clever now, and sneak off or find some sort of way to leave me behind."

"I won't." Sherlock knows he can't. It's quite daunting sometimes to be brought to heel. It doesn't happen normally, not often. In the past, the only person that has been able to do it (Besides Mummy but that doesn't count) has been... John.

It should be annoying.

Actually it is annoying.

But Sherlock can handle it.

"Guess we need to find a way to fix all of this, so I can be included. You've been clearly working on this for a couple of days now-"

There's a buzz on Sherlock's mobile and he picks it up. Looks at the message.

_Working on the papers for John. Ticket has been bought. MH  
><em>

"Mycroft?"

"Yes."

"He's working on it, I suppose."

"Yes. He apparently knew you would talk your way into it."

"Smart man."

Sherlock scowls. "Unfortunately."

* * *

><p><strong>Two Hours Later<strong>

* * *

><p>"So.. that's the plan?" John asks with uncertainty evident in his features.<p>

Sherlock nods.

John pales a little, but Sherlock can see he's coming to terms with what this all means.

"Interesting," John finally says.

"As I said earlier, I can do this on-"

"No you can't," John says sharply. "Not by yourself. End of story." He takes a deep breath and rubs the back of his head.

"How long do you think we-"

"Don't know. Depends on a lot of factors." Sherlock sighs in disgust. "I do hate working without all the data."

"Is that why you went to Mycroft?"

"Yes," Sherlock mutters. "Bloody Mycroft. Unfortunately, he has to help in order for this to work."

John nods, and once more there's another buzz on his mobile.

_Everything has been taken care of regarding John. Wait for my word on the other matter. MH_

Sherlock just shakes his head at the text, then shows John.

He just chuckles.

* * *

><p><strong>30 Minutes Later<strong>

* * *

><p>Sherlock stares at his laptop, his website. His fingers itch to type in the message he wants to send.<p>

He can hear John in the background, going over the papers that had arrived for him just a few minutes ago.

A part of him regrets bringing John in on this. John.. the man who survived the war in Afghanistan, who came back to London. Then quickly submerged in another war, where the final problems of said war will be dealt with. Deep in the back of his mind, a part that he doesn't acknowledge much, regret lingers there for bringing John into this.

But deep down, the selfish side of him, is also glad.

His mobile buzzes again.

He looks down.

_Everything is set. MH_

Sherlock looks away and types the message on the forum board of his website.

He knows it will be seen.

He doesn't know why he chose Reichenbach Falls. When searching for the right locale for this, an image of the Falls appeared. The image seemed powerful in his mind.

Sherlock reads over his message one more time, his finger pausing on the enter button.

There's no going back now. Even if he wanted to.

"Send it," John's soft voice says firmly behind him.

"If I do, there's no going back."

"I know."

"Are you truly ready?"

"Not really, then neither are you."

Sherlock smiles. "Good deduction."

"I've been learning from the master."

"Think he'll do it? Risk it, even with his face all of the news right now?"

"Yes, very much so."

"Why?"

"Because, despite everything that he is, he is still human. He will be curious. He will want to come. He will see it an opportunity that he simply cannot resist."

Sherlock eyes his message one more time. Satisfied, he hits send.

Time to end this with Moriarty.

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 10th<strong>

**Location: Berne Airport, Switzerland**

**Time: 3:38 pm**

* * *

><p>They step outside of the airport, John glad to be out of there and walking a little. Too much time on that bloody plane.<p>

"Taxi line down this way," he says, gesturing for Sherlock to follow. "It'll take us to the train. By train we should get there-"

"We'll get there in time," Sherlock says in an assuring tone of voice.

They stop at the correct spot, just as taxi looks to be coming around. Sherlock raises up his hand to get it's attention. A couple minutes later Sherlock is getting in, holding the door open for John.

"We're heading to Reichenbach Falls," he tells the driver first in Swiss, then in English, after John gets in and closes the door. The taxi drives off.

"When did you learn how to speak Swiss?"

"Remember that case with the Swiss tourists in December?"

"You learned Swiss because of that?"

Sherlock shrugs. "It kept my mind occupied."

John shakes his head, but he notices a smile.

Silence falls between the two men as they head towards Reichenbach Falls. A silence that only the two of them can appreciate.


	12. Epilogue: Reichenbach Falls

**Title: Reichenbach Falls- A Different Take (Part 3 Of A Different Take Series/Universe)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock.**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Moriarty, Moran, DI Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson with Mycroft Holmes appearance a couple times.**

**Genre: Suspense, Drama, Angst, General, Friendship, Humor (as much one can be with this story), Hurt/Comfort**

**Warnings: Death, Murder, Violence, Language**

**Spoilers: Reichenbach Falls is the title of the third episode/season finale (or episode 6) of Season 2./font/span**

**Summary: It's February. John and Sherlock have known each other for a year now, their friendship strong, the bond that is between them is understood by them, but not by everyone else. Moriarty's plans for the two of them have been coming to fruition since January. Everyone they know, have helped and are close to them (as close one can get to Sherlock that is) are in danger.**

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue-<strong>

**Reichenbach Falls**

* * *

><p><strong>Date: February 10th, 2011<strong>

**Location: Scotland Yard**

**Time: 9pm**

* * *

><p>Lestrade comes out of his office, exhausted and a bit worried. The past few days have been hell. Dealing with the deaths of some of their own, the media, the higher ups. It's been on going.<p>

He doesn't know when it'll stop, or if it will.

Plus add on the fact that he hasn't been able to get Sherlock to answer his mobile, nor John Watson's.

He shrugs his long coat on and then notices other Yarders around a large telly screen.

"What's going on?" He asks Donovan when he notices her there and comes over. She still has her arms bandaged, as her cut on her face. Why she refuses to stay home is something he can't answer.

"Not sure.. Something big happened in Swtizerland. Been reports about it on the telly the last couple hours," Donovan answers as she glances over at him. "Reports been a bit hazy on the details, but there's been word that things have been cleared up." She looks past him and frowns.

"What is it?"

"The Freak's landlady."

Lestrade turns around to see Mrs Hudson, Sherlock's landlady talking briefly to Sgt Caswell. When he notices her, so does she, and she smiles.

"It's all right," he tells the Sgt and older woman heads toward with an envelope.

"I'm sorry to come all the way down here, but I didn't know if you'd be stopping by the flat anytime soon," she says in a friendly tone. "Sherlock asked me to deliver this to you before he and John left."

"Left?"

"Oh yes, they said they had some last minute business to take care of. But apparently he had some information on an old case."

This was different. Sherlock usually called him or texted him. This was out of character for him...

"I know, seems a bit odd," Mrs Hudson says, her smile still in place, but he can see that this unnerves her. "Here you go." She looks over at the telly. "What's the crowd about?"

"Something happened in Switzerland. Not much ever does, so this becomes news."

"Oh."

Lestrade opens the envelope, to see a piece of paper. He unfolds it and recognizes the scrawled handwriting of Sherlock Holmes.

_I did not have time to do this any other way, Detective Inspector Lestrade. Other matters were in need of being taken care of. Forgive the unusual delivery. I could trust Mrs Hudson to deliver this._

_Iris Davies. You remember her case don't you? A murder that happened a month or so after that pool explosion John and I were involved in. Well I didn't say anything at the time, but you might want to check the bank records of her sister. Your path will become clearer there._

_Make sure that Mrs Hudson has some tea will you? She'll need it_.

"She'll need it?" Lestrade repeats then frowns.

"Shh! Hey, everyone it's coming up!" Donovan calls out. "Whatever happened in Switzerland, they're about to break then news!"

While there is still some noise and chatter, it's low enough to hear the blonde news reporter showing up on the screen. In the background are all sorts of emergency vehicles and in the distance...

"Reichenbach Falls!"

"Shut up Caswell!"

"Sorry."

Someone turns up the volume then, and the reporter's voice is heard.

**_"We now have official confirmation on the incident. Local authorities have now explained and confirmed what has happened. At ten minutes past six, an explosion occurred at Reichenbach Falls. A large one that caused the complete destruction of a bridge and pathway that many people have cross over times before. Now authorities are not saying what caused the explosion, only that it was clearly massive and destructive. More details on the manner of the explosion will emerge. As for casualties, four people were found on that pathway. One was seriously injured, a woman, and she is currently in the hospital getting treatment. As for the other three, they were killed. Their identities have been confirmed. One of deceased has been properly identified as Jim Moriarty, a criminal mastermind who headed a large crime organization that has recently come to light and has been responsible for many crimes over the past few years."_**

Moriarty. The bastard's finally dead.

"Oh!" Mrs Hudson exclaims, one hand grabbing Lestrade's arm.

Lestrade grins, happy as hell with that. After all the shite that happened here in London due to that madman, prior and recently, it's good to know. This time it feels like it's going to stick too. Lestrade would like to shake the hand or hands of whoever may have helped the demise along.

The buzz around the Yard starts to spread, but people are hushed quickly as the reporter continues.

_**"The other two men have also been properly identified. One is Englishman and Afghanistan war veteran, Doctor John Watson-"**_ A picture shows up on the screen.

Lestrade's grin fades quickly and the look of glee that was on Donovan's face quickly disappears. He hears Mrs Hudson next to him gasp.

**_"And the other is Englishman and self proclaimed Consulting Detective, Sherlock Holmes."_** Sherlock Holmes's picture also shows on the screen.

The bottom has dropped out. There's an unexpected silence coming from everyone.

**_"I repeat, the three men that were killed in the blast are Jim Moriarty, Doctor John Watson and Sherlock Holmes."_**

"My boys!"

Lestrade hears the anguish in Mrs Hudson's voice. He turns to grab the woman, before she sinks to the floor. Another grabs a chair and Lestrade makes sure she's sitting while the older woman cries.

A part of him wants to be able to do just that.

_Make sure that Mrs Hudson has some tea will you? She'll need it._

Son a bitch...

"Get her some tea," Lestrade orders to Donovan, who looks as shocked as he feels. But she nods and heads off. Lestrade notices a chair next to him and sits. A minute later Donovan returns to Mrs Hudson and hears the Sgt attempt to comfort her. The weariness and exhaustion in him increases tenfold.

Damn him.

Bloody Moriarty.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson...

Two men.. one that was a brilliant, great man that was verging on good, (He hoped and if they were all very, very lucky) and the other helping that man verge to greatness... Both of them are gone.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson...dead.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: There we go, the final bit to three major stories of my A Different Take Series.<strong> _**The End.**_

_**Or Is It?**_


End file.
